Away From This Place
by NewtPevensie
Summary: What if Clarkson had called off the Selection? Would Maxon have fallen for someone else? Or would he have done anything to return to America? Starts about halfway through The One. Rated T/M for potential future content/language.
1. Proposition

'I have a proposition for you.'

'I'm not interested,' Maxon shot back.

King Clarkson raised his arms in front of him, gesturing that he meant no harm. 'Hear me out.'

Maxon sighed.

'These girls have been disastrous. Even the Asian's connections have done nothing for me. The Two is too concerned with fame; and the other, well, she's not entirely hopeless, but not good enough, if you ask me. This one,' he said, pointing at me, 'whatever value she's had has been completely overshadowed by her inability to contain herself.

'This has all gone terribly wrong. And I know you. I know you're afraid of missing something, so this is my thought.'

I watched the king walk round Maxon. 'Let's call this off. Let's get rid of all the girls.'

Maxon opened his mouth to protest, but the king held up a hand. 'I'm not suggesting you stay single. I'm simply saying that we still have the entries of all the eligible girls in the country sitting around here somewhere. Wouldn't it be nice if you got to handpick a few girls to come to the palace?'

'Father, I couldn't.'

'Oh, but you could. You're the prince. And I think we've had enough outbursts that we could deem this lot unfit. You could have a real choice this time.'

I looked up again. Maxon's eyes were focused on the floor. I could see he was struggling.

'This might even appease the rebels temporarily. Think of that!' the king added. 'If we send these girls home, wait a few months like we're calling off the Selection, and then bring in a new group of lovely, educated, pleasant women… that could change a lot of things.'

Maxon tried to say something but only closed his mouth again.

'Either way, you should ask yourself if that,' he said, pointing to me again, 'is someone you could really spend your life with. Dramatic, selfish, money hungry, and, to be quite honest, very plain. Look at her, son.'

Maxon's eyes darted down to mine, holding them for a second before I had to turn away from humiliation.

'I'll give you a few days. For now there's the press to deal with. Amberly.'

The queen scurried over, placing her arm through the king's, leaving us alone and speechless.

After a short pause, Maxon came to help me stand up.

'Thanks.'

Maxon only nodded. 'I should probably go with them. No doubt they'll have questions for me as well.'

'That's a pretty nice offer,' I commented.

'Maybe the most generous one he's ever made.'

I didn't want to know if he was seriously considering this. There was nothing else to say, so I made my way past him, taking the back route to my room, hoping to outrun everything I was feeling.

Two hours later, I lay in my room, sprawled across my bed, still in the white-and-gold dress from the ceremony, only slightly more crumpled than it had been in the throne room. When I had come back, my maids had taken one look at the expression on my face and had left me alone. Since then I had hardly moved from my position on top of the covers.

I considered changing my clothes so that I could wallow in my misery for the rest of the night – and for that matter, possibly most of the next morning – in comfort, when I heard a gentle knock at the door. Knowing that if it was my maids, they would crack the door open, I said nothing. The knock came again, quiet but insistent, so I forced myself to roll over so I could get up more easily. Unfortunately I misjudged my position relative to the edge and squeaked as I fell to the floor with a thud.

'America?' Maxon's voice, laced with worry, reached my ears through the door.

Crap.

'Just a sec!' I scrambled to my feet, yanking the yards of white fabric out of the way so I didn't step on the hem. I finally reached the door, smoothing my hair in an attempt to make myself look vaguely presentable, then opened the door to find Maxon, still in his suit from earlier, standing awkwardly in the opening. He raised an eyebrow, asking silently what the commotion was. I grimaced and waved a hand in the vague direction of the bed. 'I… fell.'

His answering smirk made me roll my eyes. He'd guessed. Obviously. Then his smile melted, morphing into something far more serious. 'May I come in?'

'Oh. Yeah, of course.' I stepped out of the way, holding the door open for him to pass. Closing it carefully behind him, I watched him make his way into the middle of my room and begin to pace. He ran his hand over his face, then through his hair – from the mess it was in this was clearly not the first time that afternoon. Suddenly he stopped, and beckoned me over. I stepped reluctantly away from the wall I was leaning against, heart fluttering like a hummingbird's wings. He was going to tell me I had to go, that he was taking up his father's offer, that this was goodbye… I couldn't cry. I wouldn't. I couldn't do that to him – this would be hard enough already without any histrionics on my part.

He stood right in front of me, hardly managing to look at me. This was going to be bad. Maybe his father had told him to let me have it? It would be no more than I deserved.

'America Singer, will you marry me?'

A buzzing filled my ears. 'What?' I heard myself say distantly. That's not what I meant to say.

'Marry me, America. We can call off the Selection. Once we're engaged, my father can't do anything about it. He can't send you away. The others will go home, and we can be together. Properly. Marry me, America, and make me the happiest man in the world.' He looked me in the eye, and all at once my head was clear. I stared back at him, this amazing, strong, beautiful man who was willing to brave his father again and again for me. How could I not love him? How could I not agree, tell him all I wanted was to stay with him forever?

'America?' The glow in Maxon's eyes was dying with every passing second. 'Say something. Please.'

Had I still not said anything? In my head I was screaming, but my vocal chords had died. I opened my mouth but nothing came out. Giving up on, well, words, I simply nodded. Yes, yes, yes.

The clouds of fear crossing Maxon's face were blown away by the awe I beheld in his eyes, the awe that he must surely see in mine. His face split into a huge grin, goofy and ridiculous, but so like Maxon it made my heart clench. He crossed what little distance there was between us and wrapped his arms around my waist, lifting me up in the air and swinging me round in a circle. My voice had somehow returned, and I was laughing at the total giddiness of the moment.

'Maxon… please,' I got out, in between bouts of laughter so strong my sides hurt. 'Put me down!' He finally got the message and set me down carefully, before taking my face in his hands and kissing me soundly. My arms twisted around his neck, holding him near me as my heart threatened to hammer through my ribcage. Moving in closer to his body, I felt his heart beating against my chest, almost as though it was trying to reach mine. What was that old story my father used to tell us? That in ancient times it was believed that everyone used to have four arms, four legs and two heads. The gods feared we would grow too powerful, so used magic to split into two bodies, leaving us to spend our lives searching for our other half.

Well, I'd found him. Two halves of the same heart, kept in two separate bodies because we were too powerful together. I understood why the gods were scared: when I was with Maxon, I felt as though nothing could bring me down. I was fearless, I was fierce, and I was Maxon's.

We stayed like that for a long time, bound together by months of anxiety and yearning, of lies and love. Somehow we had found each other, defied the odds in this strange game of chance, and I was never letting him go again.


	2. Ice and Fire

The next morning, when I entered the dining room for breakfast, the effort it took to hide the smile that had hardly left my lips since Maxon had left the previous night was almost painful. I avoided looking at my fiancé, keeping my head bowed as I took my usual seat by Kriss. From under my eyelashes I noticed the other three girls glancing at each other. They thought Maxon was mad at me – that I was so embarrassed that I could hardly face him, I realised. Well, let them. I hugged my wonderful secret to me, tucking it in close to my heart. Another few days was all I had to get through. Maxon said he would let the aftermath of my stupid stunt yesterday die down, before announcing our engagement.

I helped myself to pancakes, practically drowning them in maple syrup. I could never decide which I liked more – the pancakes or the syrup – so I tended to overeat both and regret it later. If I was going to stay, I would probably have to learn some element of self-restraint. Ah well. Tomorrow.

I dug in, savouring every mouthful. The girls around me did the same – as much as they had tried to limit what they ate for fear of filling out their dresses at the start, the palace food was too good to resist for long.

Once we had all finished, we made to rise, but the king beat us to it. I looked across the table at Celeste in confusion, but the king waved at us to sit, so we complied, slowly, warily. Whatever he was going to say, after yesterday's outburst, it wasn't going to be good.

'Ladies,' he began. 'I regret to inform you of a serious development in the fight against the Renegades. Last night there was another attack, this time targeting Carolina.' An awful humming started to fill my ears. Carolina. They were attacking my home, just because I was part of the Selection. _Please let my family be alright_ , I prayed silently. _Please. Just let them be okay_.

The king was still talking. 'A few houses were affected as fires spread from a truck that was set alight. It was parked under a tree that caught aflame, but unfortunately was very close to a house. The fire passed to it, and quickly the fire spread. Three people were killed – two children and one of their parents, who ran upstairs in an attempt to save them.' All four of us let out gasps of horror at the thought of more death and destruction on our account. 'Yes, I know this is terrible news, but this is where it starts to affect you girls more directly. Every newspaper in the land has been calling for an end to the Selection in the hopes that it will stop the Renegades from attacking innocents. As such,' he continued, blatantly avoiding Maxon's horrified stare as the latter realised what was happening, 'Prince Maxon has decided that the best course of action would be to call off the Selection, to avoid any further loss of life.'

No.

No, no, no.

We all fell silent, frozen in shock at what we had just been told. The king was lying through his teeth, Maxon would never agree, he was smarter than that, braver than that. Not when he had just proposed. Proposed to me. The thought only just registered as I looked up and met Maxon's eyes, shock and anger filling them as they must be filling mine.

'You can't do this!'

Maxon and I were snapped out of our shared, silent astonishment at the sound of Celeste's voice. She stood up, pushing the chair back so violently it almost fell – only at the last moment did it rock back to slam down on the floor, feet still on the ground. The crash only made Celeste's outburst more forceful. 'Prince Maxon is honour-bound to marry one of the candidates of the Selection. He can't back out, any more than we can. We signed the contract – all of us. And none of us are willing to leave. Not unless he tells us _himself_ ,' she finished, eyes flashing. She glared at the king, who had gone utterly still, like a snake about to strike.

For several seconds after she finished, King Clarkson said nothing. Then he stepped away from his chair, walking slowly towards Celeste. She refused to back down, drawing herself up to her full height, standing proud and strong in the face of the oncoming storm. Even though he did nothing, and the pair were on the other side of the table, I had to steel myself for whatever was coming. Because Clarkson would never let anyone challenge him like this and get away with it. If his son could hardly question him, who was this mere model to defy the king?

Clarkson's anger radiated off him like a solar flare. Across the table I could practically feel the heat of his ire roiling around him. I was almost surprised that his beard wasn't smoking. I was even more surprised at Celeste, who didn't retreat an inch – maybe her ice would be a match for his fire.

Kriss and Natalie shared a frightened glance, realising that, as much as they may support Celeste's opinion – as did I – they couldn't speak out to back her up without attracting Clarkson's attention. Too scared to even move, they froze in their chairs, staring rigidly ahead of them, hardly daring to breathe too deeply to steady themselves.

Celeste was still facing down the king, who seemed to be trying to regain control of some element of his temper. The ice in the model's stare was starting to crack as she realised who exactly she had shouted at. Her eyes widened minutely as she tried to prepare herself for whatever punishment Clarkson was planning to inflict on her.

Teeth clenched in anger, Clarkson stopped in front of Celeste.

'He's right.'

The words rang through the room as the five of us snapped our attention to the prince. His eyes met mine for barely a second, but it was long enough.

 _I love you._

 _I'm so sorry._

 _I have to._

'He's right,' Maxon repeated. 'We talked it over earlier this morning, when the papers came in. It isn't right for you to bear the guilt of lives lost because I was too selfish to let you go. Enough is enough.' He straightened, head held high, no longer looking at any of us. 'You must all go home. Today.'

Clarkson took a step back from Celeste, unable to hide the smugness in his eyes. 'You see? Now you've heard it from Maxon. Right,' he said, turning slightly so as to address all of us. 'Go pack. This Selection is over.'

I couldn't stand to be in the same room as him a minute longer. I grabbed Kriss's hand and dragged her along with me, knowing somehow that she wouldn't leave without someone making her. I heard the sound of heels clacking on the marble floor – Elise and Celeste were following us. We passed through the door, but as it was closing, I looked back at Maxon. His eyes were filled with such anguish that my heart hurt. I could hardly breathe. But then my attention shifted to Clarkson standing beside him. He was looking down the room at the closing door, but in the seconds before it shut completely, he placed his hand on Maxon's shoulder possessively. Then he met my eyes and smirked.

The door closed with a click, and my heart shattered.


	3. Keep them Safe

I lay on my bed listlessly, waiting for someone to come and tell me my transport was here. My maids had been and gone, having packed my things and dressed me in clothes more suitable for a Three returning home than a prospective princess. Gone was the floor length gown, replaced with a practical navy skirt and a simple white blouse. It was almost a relief to be wearing sensible shoes – flats rather than heels that pinched my toes and gave me blisters.

Almost.

Because all the relief I felt at not having to be dressed up all the time was overshadowed by the awful knowledge that, once I left, I was not coming back. I would have to find a new profession, and a whole new life stretched out in front of me. But it wasn't the one I chose.

The one I wanted.

Because when I left, I wasn't going to see Maxon again.

And I didn't know how I was going to cope.

Suddenly I was aware of a gentle knocking at the door. It sounded like it had been going on for a while, but I had been too cooped up in my thoughts to notice. Crossing the room, I steeled myself for Sylvia's arrival – the transport had arrived, I had to go, without saying goodbye to Maxon. But when I opened the door, it wasn't Sylvia's slight form waiting – it was a man, tall and broad-shouldered, in a guard's uniform.

Aspen.

A million emotions hit me simultaneously, and it's all I could do to stop myself from running into his arms.

'Officer Leger.' I greeted him formally, somehow keeping up some pretence of decorum.

'Lady America,' he said, bowing minutely. 'May I come in? There are a few last-minute security details that you ought to be aware of.'

I nodded, stepping aside to let him in. The door closed, and I was already in his arms, sobbing. He drew me over towards the bed, sitting me down while he fetched tissues and a glass of water from the bathroom. Handing me a few tissues, he raised an eyebrow at my hysterics.

'I thought you wanted to leave.' He sounded genuinely confused, as though he didn't understand why I was so sad to leave. 'You're going home! Back to your parents and May. Back to your music. And away from all these… theatrics.' He glanced at me sideways, telling me exactly what he thought of my theatrics at that moment. Then, as an afterthought, 'Away from this messed-up palace.'

Instead of cheering me up, which was clearly his intent, his words made me cry even harder, if such a thing were possible. I couldn't get any words out, so Aspen just sat next to me, rubbing comforting circles on my back. Eventually I ran out of tears, eyes puffy and red as my head started to hurt. Aspen handed me the glass of water wordlessly, and waited while I drank it. When it was empty, he put it on the table by my bed, and turned to face me fully.

'So what's keeping you here?'

I looked up at him, my friend, my first love, my Aspen, and I told him. 'Maxon proposed… and I accepted. But the King called off the Selection. And there's nothing either of us can do about it.' My eyes filled with tears again as the pain of leaving hit me in a new wave.

'Oh Mer…' Aspen whispered, half in shock and half in pity. His arms wrapped around me and I clung to him, my fresh tears soaking his uniform. 'I'm so sorry.' Then I felt him take a quick breath, as though preparing himself to do something difficult. 'I have something I need to tell you.'

I drew back, taking the tissue he held out to me. Drying my tears, I sat up straight and asked, 'What is it?'

'I… Look, Mer, I'm really sorry to tell you this when all this is happening, but if I don't tell you now, I don't know when I'll be able to, and the longer I leave it the weirder it's going to be–'

'Aspen.' I cut him off before he got any more flustered. 'What's wrong?'

'Nothing,' he reassured me. 'It's just… Mer, when I said that I would always love you, I meant it. But since I said that, we've both changed enough that while I still love you, it isn't in the same way. You'll always have a piece of my heart, Mer, but someone else has stolen the rest. And I had to tell you before you left, so that we could both move on.' He looked up at me, looking almost guilty. Like he could control his feelings any more than I could.

'Mer, please, say something.'

I met his stare. 'Just tell me one thing.' He swallowed, then nodded once. 'Who?'

Aspen closed his eyes. 'Lucy.'

I pursed my lips for a second, then my face split into a smile. Yes, I could see how Lucy would need someone like Aspen to give her faith, and how Aspen would need Lucy to give him strength. 'I'm glad.'

Aspen's eyes flew open and he stared at me like I'd gone mad. 'What?'

'I'm glad because now I can ask you to make sure she stays safe. If Clarkson's plan doesn't work, and the Renegades keep attacking, promise me you'll keep her safe. You'll keep them all safe.' I don't know exactly who I mean – my maids, Maxon, Queen Amberly, Sylvia, hell, even Clarkson. All I know is that if anyone can protect them, it's Aspen.

'Of course, Mer. It's my job, isn't it? Not all of us get paid to parade around in pretty dresses, you know.' Aspen smirks.

'That, I'd like to see.' I look up at him again, then I wrap my arms around him one last time.

'America?'


	4. Lies

'America?'

I jumped back from Aspen, dropping my arms from around him as though I had been burnt. My head whipped round to see Maxon standing in the doorframe, looking more shocked than I'd ever seen him – more shocked than when I kneed him in the thigh, more than when I told him that the others knew I'd seen him shirtless, even more than when he realised I'd been shot.

My mouth was moving before I knew what I was going to say. 'Maxon–'

'Don't.' He cut me off with a flick of his hand. He took a step into the room, letting the door swing shut behind him. His shock was melting away, replaced by something else I couldn't name, even as he schooled his expression into one of calm disinterest.

Maxon stopped in front of Aspen, who had got to his feet and was standing not quite at attention. 'What's your name? Your first name?'

'Aspen.' The guard's eyes met the prince's, each trying to read something I couldn't understand in the other.

'Aspen Leger.' Maxon chewed his lip for a second, then jerked his chin towards the door. 'Wait outside.'

Aspen glanced at me apologetically, then headed for the door. It shut with a soft click, then Maxon and I were alone. I grimaced inwardly at what was sure to follow – but at least I knew I was going home anyway. There was nothing else he could do to me – short of another public caning. But would that inflame or appease the Renegades? They were too random to predict.

Maxon ran a hand through his hair, the sudden motion pulling me back to the present. I steeled myself, waiting for him to speak, but as the silence stretched on, I realised that he didn't look as angry as I feared – strangely, he just looked thoughtful.

I opened my mouth to say something – what, I still didn't know – but Maxon held up a hand, gesturing for me to wait. Whatever he was thinking, it was setting me on edge.

Finally, he blinked a couple of times, shaking himself out of his reverie, and focused his attention on me. I met his gaze hesitantly, and found it lacking the venom I was expecting.

'Maxon, I –'

'Is he the one you were trying to escape from?'

I frowned for a second, before I remembered the conversation we'd had weeks and weeks ago, right at the start of the Selection, when I told him that I didn't want to go home because I didn't want to face the person who'd broken my heart. Unsure as to whether I could keep manage anything more than a whisper, I just nodded, dropping my gaze as a wave of shame crashed through me.

'That worked well, then?'

I looked up, utterly shocked. I knew him well enough that I could hear the smile he was hiding in his voice, but at that moment I thought I was hearing things. But when I saw his smirk, I started to wonder whether he had lost it.

'You're not a very good liar, America.'

I stared at him. 'What?'

'I knew there was something going on, ever since Hallowe'en. You became more jumpy, worried when we passed certain guards, but at the same time, I could see that you were warring with yourself. You even told me so. So I guessed that something had happened – that the boy who broke your heart was here, and that you were trying to decide what would make you happy. I came by your room one evening, and I heard voices. Yours, and a man's. I heard you tell him that you needed a clear head, that you needed some time to think… That you had to make a decision.' He broke off abruptly. He closed his eyes, then asked, 'Why didn't you tell me he was here?'

I couldn't speak. He _knew_? And he wasn't angry? That or he was hiding it incredibly well.

Maxon was still waiting expectantly. I grimaced, then replied, 'I couldn't risk his safety. There isn't anything between us any more – there hasn't been for weeks – but he's still my best friend. How could I risk telling you? And after Marlee…' I trailed off, noticing Maxon's dark look.

'Yes… Marlee. She told you the story. How she was only caned, when the punishment ought to have been death. But believe me, if it had been possible, I would have let her and Officer Woodwork leave in peace, to a place of their choosing. I only gave that sentence because it wasn't me who found them together – a journalist did, meaning I couldn't hide their relationship.'

I saw the pain in his eyes as he remembered that awful day, where Marlee and Carter's happiness was paid for in blood and tears. That incident had led to the longest fight we'd ever had, partly because I didn't understand his side of the story.

It was also when I'd told Aspen I needed space to think.

'I don't understand. How can you be so… so… _calm_?' The confusion was evident in my voice. 'Aren't you angry?'

'Oh, I was,' Maxon demurred. 'But when I heard you tell him you had to think, I knew you had as much of a choice to make as I did. And how exactly could I fault you for that when I had to do the exact same thing? My choice was just more public.' He pursed his lips. 'Although I still wish you'd told me.'

I winced. 'I know. I'm so sorry, Maxon.'

He shrugged. 'It's okay. Doesn't matter much now, anyway.' His eyes flicked to mine. 'I am sorry about that. You know I would never have done that if there were any other way to help Celeste.'

I put my hand over his, twining my fingers through his tense ones, making him relax slightly. Stroking his hand with my thumb, I said, 'I understand. I wouldn't have wished your father's anger on anyone – not even Celeste. Probably,' I added with a smirk.

Maxon rolled his eyes, then grew serious again. 'I'm going to miss you, my dear.'

'Don't call me that.' The words slipped out almost automatically. 'I'll miss you too.'

His eyes bore into mine. Slowly, so slowly, he leaned forward to kiss me one last time. My eyes fluttered shut, and I savoured the feeling of his lips on mine, warm and soft and… salty, I realised, both from his tears and my own.

He drew back, quickly wiping his eyes with the heel of his hand. Then Maxon stood, calling for Aspen as I used my last tissue to dry my face.

Aspen came in, not furtively as I might have expected, but standing tall, his expression set in defiance. He looked like he was about to go into battle. I stood up as well, but stayed slightly behind Maxon, waiting for his reaction to meeting Aspen properly.

He stopped in front of Maxon, looking down on him from his marginally greater height. Soldier and prince stared at each other, each trying to get the measure of the other, until a small smile twitched at Maxon's lips, breaking the image of an irate royal.

'I may not exactly approve of your relationship to America, but I can't really fault your taste.'

Aspen's eyes widened in surprise, as did mine. This was quickly becoming a very weird day.

Maxon held out his hand and Aspen shook it tentatively. Letting go, Aspen leaned round Maxon to see me and mouthed, ' _What_?'

'He knew. Before this. About us,' I summed up. That wasn't quite coherent English, but it got the message across.

Aspen quirked an eyebrow. 'If you don't mind me asking, Your Highness… if you knew, why didn't you do anything about it?'

Maxon took a step to the side, so that we were standing in a triangle. He held out his left hand for mine, and, meeting my eyes, explained: 'America had as much right to not choose me as I did to choose her.'

Aspen's eyes sparked, as if he suddenly understood the whole situation.

'Well, you don't really need to worry about that anymore,' Aspen said. 'We both know she chose you… and someone else chose me.' His expression softened, and I wondered at how self-absorbed I must have been to miss how he did that every time Lucy was mentioned.

'About that,' I interjected. 'Maxon, will you promise me something?'

He squeezed my hand. 'Anything, my dear. As ever.'

'Can you make sure my maids keep their positions? All three would see it as a reprimand to be sent back down to the kitchens. And,' I added, 'it makes it easier for Aspen to _visit_ if they're up here.' I smirked as I saw Aspen shift guiltily at my words.

Maxon grinned. 'It would be my honour.'

He looked at his watch and his smile faded. 'I have to go.' He drew me towards him by the hand still laced with mine and kissed me chastely on the cheek. 'See you downstairs.'

He let go of my hand and turned to leave. Aspen took this as his cue to go as well, and after wrapping me in a quick bear hug, joined Maxon at the door. Maxon dipped his head me, a solemn farewell. Aspen half-smiled and threw a joking 'Love you' my way, then followed my prince out the door.

Just before it _snicked_ shut, I heard a muttered 'Don't push it, buddy,' from Maxon, and a snort from Aspen. Then the door closed, and I was alone.


	5. Amberly

'Lady America? It's time to go.' Sylvia's voice came through the door, firm and practical as usual.

'Coming,' I called back. Picking up my small bag with the bracelet from Maxon, Aspen's button on its ribbon, a few other pieces of jewellery, a book for the journey, and my keys to my house, I made my way to the door. Pausing with my hand on the doorknob, I took one last look at the room that had become mine, where so many wonderful things had happened. I took a deep, calming breath, then left the room for the last time.

As I reached the landing at the top of the stairs, I met the other three girls, all looking simultaneously sad and angry. No one said anything, but I reached out for Celeste's hand. She gripped it, nails digging into my skin as mine dug into hers. Kriss and Elise did the same, before I reached for Kriss's free hand, and we made our way down the main staircase, the last four girls of Maxon's Selection, leaving as the friends we never expected to become.

King Clarkson was standing at the bottom of the staircase with Maxon. Queen Amberly, despite looking as regal and dignified as ever, seemed to be standing slightly apart from them, alternating between looking at us sadly and shooting daggers at Clarkson.

I tried to think why this, of all things, would turn Amberly against her husband. In every other situation she'd stood by him, even when she probably shouldn't have, making excuses as to why he was violent and had very little control over his temper. I thought back to what Maxon had said – ' _She gets mistreated in her own ways_.' Whatever Clarkson did to her, this somehow this was bigger than that. Mattered more to her than that.

I watched her carefully as Sylvia came over to us, telling first Elise, then Kriss, the plans to get home. Amberly was glaring at Clarkson again, but then her gaze shifted to Maxon, morphing into something so caring and motherly I almost started to cry.

And suddenly it clicked.

Who could make her angry at her husband… except her son? Outwardly, the solution of sending us all home seemed perfect, for reasons both public and private. The Renegades would get what they wanted, Clarkson got rid of us, and Maxon could find some other girl in a later Selection, one Clarkson thought more suitable than any of us – a thought I was sure Amberly was privy to.

But she knew Maxon had already found a girl.

' _If it ends as I suspect it will, Mom will be just fine.'_

That was it. It had to be. The only thing that would make her angry with Clarkson would be if she knew that he was making Maxon throw away a chance at happiness.

That he was making me leave.

My thoughts were interrupted by Sylvia thrusting an envelope at me.

'Your ticket, America. Try not to lose it. You will be driven to the airport, where a security team will bring you to your plane. You will land in Carolina about four hours after takeoff, and a driver will take you home. Your bags will follow tomorrow. Got it?' Sylvia had gabbled all this information off in about 10 seconds, barely stopping to take a breath. I nodded anyway, knowing that even if I forgot, those accompanying me wouldn't, so there wasn't really a problem if I hadn't heard.

Sylvia nodded sharply, then sidestepped to give Celeste an almost identical discourse – although I did notice that she didn't tell _her_ not to lose her ticket. _Nice one, America._

Maxon cleared his throat.

Our attention immediately snapped to him as Sylvia moved away to stand in the shadow of the doors. He bit his lip for a second, then began, looking at each of us in turn.

'I realise that, in the circumstances, this is a difficult situation to deal with. Believe me when I say I wish there were a better option – I do not want to give into the Renegades, nor do I want you to leave, but given the threats to the people of Illéa that increase every hour you remain… I hope that you all can understand my decision, even if you do not agree with it.' He swallowed, then continued: 'Despite this, I very much hope that we depart on good terms,' his eyes lingered on mine, just a second too long, 'and if not, I hope that you will look back on these months we have spent together with fondness, rather than anger.'

He paused, then narrowing his eyes slightly, seemed to come to a decision, and bowed deeply to all of us. Clarkson's eyes sparked even as the four of us gasped. Sylvia froze in shock, but Amberly, the queen of protocol and etiquette herself, smiled slightly at her son's act of rebellion.

Before anyone could say anything, Maxon straightened and headed for Elise. He kissed her hand and said something to her quietly that made her stand taller, prouder, even as she curtseyed formally and went to stand near Sylvia. Kriss looked close to tears as Maxon said goodbye, but managed a tiny smile as she joined Elise and gave her a hug, much to Elise's surprise, judging by her expression.

Celeste darted a glance at me, then, true to form, shocked everyone by practically tackling Maxon in a hug. He let out a muffled noise that could have been laughter, then said something in Celeste's ear that made her smirk. She nodded at him and joined the others, embracing each of them in turn. Then Maxon turned to me.

We'd already said our goodbyes upstairs. No more secrets between us, and yet looking at him was harder now than it ever had been when there had been a figurative wall of our own construction blocking our way. I didn't know what to say.

But Maxon, it appeared, did.

'I have something for you,' he murmured. Dipping his hand into his pocket, he withdrew something whose chain spilled out of his fist. Making sure his back was between me and the king, he poured this… whatever-it-was into my cupped hands, and I gasped.

'My songbird necklace,' I whispered. 'How did you… How?'

The man I had given it to had given it to the king, who certainly wouldn't have let me have it back.

'I may possibly have swiped it when no one was looking,' Maxon said. His voice sounded light, but there was an undercurrent of tension that leaked through.

I knew what a risk he had taken to give me back this thing that I loved so much, and my heart clenched. I would never be able to repay this man for all he'd done for me… and now I'd never even get the chance to.

I slipped the necklace back in my pocket, before he took my hand again and kissed it. Then he stepped back to Amberly's side, and I joined the others. Each of them wrapped me in a hug, which I returned as tightly as I could. We'd been through a lot together, and there was no replacing the friendships we'd made – however unlikely they were, I thought as I embraced Celeste.

As we looked at each other one last time, we somehow came to an unspoken understanding that we had one last thing to do. So as one, we turned to face Amberly and Maxon and dipped into our lowest and most graceful curtseys. Then, without a twitch of an eyelash to acknowledge King Clarkson, we left the palace.

Later, in the car, I took something out of my pocket. The songbird necklace wasn't the only thing Maxon had given me – he'd also dropped a piece of paper into my hand, folded so many times it was hardly bigger than my thumbnail.

I unfolded it with a pang to my heart as I recognised Maxon's handwriting. My last message from him. At least I would have something of him to hold on to, to remind me my time in the Selection was nothing but a dream.

 _My dearest America,_

 _I am so sorry. I don't know if you will ever be able to forgive me for choosing this when our future together was within our grasp, but at least I hope you will understand why I did it._

 _No matter how it ended, I will be forever grateful that I held this Selection, that I made all these friends… and that I fell in love with you._

 _I love you, America._

 _Maxon._

I almost started crying from the few words he'd written, but I'd been crying so much today that my body was all out of tears. I started to fold up the letter again, when I noticed a hastily added postscript on the other side of the paper.

 _PS – I'll make sure Aspen writes._

I frowned at the cryptic addition to Maxon's letter. What did he mean? He must have added that in the last hour or so, since he found out who Aspen really was. But why wouldn't Aspen write home? And why would Maxon feel the need to reassure me that he would ensure Aspen did?

Whatever the reason, I wasn't going to work it out anytime soon. I folded up the letter and returned it to my pocket, next to my songbird. Then I stared out the window, watching as the last view of the palace faded in the distance, as I left it behind forever.


	6. Post

_Three months later_

'Post!' May yelled as she arrived home from school. I looked up from my book to see her come into the sitting room, still in her black school shoes and her warmest jacket – despite it being March, spring had yet to arrive, so gloves, scarves and woolly hats were still the order of the day. She started flicking through the pile of envelopes, ever hopeful for one for her, even though that was a rare occurrence, except at birthdays and Christmas.

'Bills… letter for Dad… Kenna writing to Mum… another bill… and one for America.'

I held my hand out for my letter, and when she gave it to me, was able to confirm my suspicion that it was from Aspen. Maxon had, true to his word, ensured that Aspen wrote at least once a fortnight, but I still couldn't decipher why he had felt the need to make sure that that was the case. Aspen's missives tended to be fairly straightforward, with no secret instructions, or anything else out of the ordinary.

Maybe Maxon had just thought that I had the right at least to speak to Aspen regularly, after the last few months of secrecy.

I tore open the envelope.

Inside was Aspen's usual letter – he was fine, the palace seemed awfully quiet without the Selection and the assorted camera crews that followed us, Anne and Mary send their love, he and Lucy were still together, her father was growing stronger, Marlee and Carter hadn't been discovered… all the normal news. My heart sank slightly, even as I told myself that I was being silly, that I had to move on, that I had to accept that Clarkson would never allow Maxon to contact me.

I must have been staring into space for a while, because I suddenly realised May had been calling my name. I shook myself out of my trance and looked at my little sister.

'Everything okay?' A note of worry crept into her voice.

'Yeah, I'm fine. Thanks for bringing this,' I tried to reassure her, waving the letter. 'Aspen says hi.'

May brightened slightly. 'Tell him hi back for me when you answer, will you? And ask if he could sneak a few of those strawberry tarts and send them to me? They were so delicious my mouth waters every time I think about them.'

I rolled my eyes. 'Sure, May.'

 _F'taaannng._

The tinny doorbell rang. I looked at May, confused, but she just shrugged and ran upstairs to do her homework.

I opened the door.

Aspen's sister Kamber was standing in the opening. When she saw I was there, her face lit up with a huge smile.

'Hey, America! I was hoping you would be home!'

'Hi, Kamber.' I smiled – Aspen's sisters were lovely, always cheerful and optimistic. 'How can I help?'

'Mum just got the normal package from Aspen, with a letter for each of us, but I think he must have gotten confused.' She held out an envelope. 'There was one addressed to you as well. Does he normally write to you?'

I frowned. 'Yes, he does. But…' I caught myself. Aspen had already sent me a letter. What could this one be? Well, whatever it was, Kamber probably shouldn't know about it. Just in case.

'I guess he must have put them all in a pile and forgotten mine was in there as well?' I suggested, taking the mystery letter.

Kamber grinned. 'That does sound like him – get almost the whole way through something, get distracted by work, then forget what he did. Anyways, just wanted to drop that off. Oh, and Mum would love it if you dropped by at some point.' She winked.

I had to smile. 'That should be manageable.'

Kamber turned to head home. 'Bye, America!'

'Bye,' I mumbled, shutting the door. I examined the letter in my hand. Why would Aspen feel the need to send me a second letter so soon? Maxon told him to write, but this was odd.

I returned to the living room, where I had left Aspen's first letter. Flipping over the opened envelope, I compared the writing. Both were definitely from Aspen – exact same formatting, writing, even the same flourish added to the A in my name. So why the second letter, sent separately?

I opened the envelope.

 _My dearest America,_

My hand flew up to cover my mouth in shock. It was from Maxon. He'd found a way to send me letters – by smuggling them through Aspen's post.

 _I hope this reaches you without interference. I had to find a way to talk to you – I can't spend the rest of my life never hearing your words again, so writing seems like the next best option._

 _Your friend has been a godsend – firstly in answering my (many) questions about your wellbeing in the last three months, and secondly in agreeing to help send you some correspondence of my own. My sincerest apologies in the delay, but I couldn't risk doing this too quickly – Father watches me like a hawk, so I had to wait two whole months before I could risk even approaching Aspen directly. Until that point, we had mainly been communicating through your maid Lucy, who has been reassigned to help the royal family with their general needs at my request. She's a very talented young woman – she can actually find things in my room when I can't._

 _I asked Aspen to write as normal, but to also send this letter separately. He suggested sending it with a package to his family, so that it would not seem so remarkable, and that it could be passed off as a mistake on his part. If this reaches you, tell me how you think this system might be improved? I don't want to raise any more suspicions than I have to, so any suggestions would be appreciated._

 _If you want to write back (which I hope you do), send a letter to Aspen as normal, but add a cross in one of the corners of the envelope. He'll know it's for me and will pass it along. Hopefully._

 _Father is insufferable. He walks around practically radiating smugness at having got what he wanted. I don't know how Mother stands it._

 _He has already started planning the new Selection. He says it probably won't start for another few months, but even now he has meetings every other day with a special advisor who is helping him narrow down the girls who already applied for the last Selection to a 'suitable' group. He's been throwing about the idea that it should be secret – he says the cameras brought more trouble than they were worth, and that without them, the girls wouldn't have a reason to 'show off,' and would concentrate on proving they were dignified and poised and elegant and all that crap._

 _But I don't want someone dignified. I want my fiery America, who had no problem kneeing a prince in the crotch because he got too close. Who tried to protect her friend from being whipped in front of hundreds of people. Who got shot to meet a renegade who saw a different future._

 _I love you, America._

 _Maxon._

I leaned back in the chair I was sitting in. Maxon had found a way to write. He'd risked his father's fury to talk to me.

His father. Who was planning a new Selection. Clarkson would expect Maxon to marry one of the girls in that Selection – he would probably have decided who it should be before they arrived. And there was nothing I could do to stop him from making Maxon do just that, even if he hated the girl Clarkson chose.

But I could give him something of me to hold on to. To remember.

I ran up to my room, grabbed a piece of paper and a pen, and began to write.

 _Dear Maxon._


	7. Updates

The letters continued for the next few months. After the first one, and my reply, we decided that it would be easier to just use Aspen's letters themselves – Maxon would give Aspen his letter, which he would add to the envelope that contained his own missive, and I would send my replies to each of them in the same envelope, addressed to Aspen.

I sent Maxon updates on my training as a music teacher, while he kept me informed on the secret happenings of the palace. Clarkson had decided to keep this new Selection secret from the rest of Illéa – only those at the palace, the new Selectionees and I knew about it. Even the families of the girls thought that their daughters had been summoned to the palace for training as new ladies-in-waiting for Queen Amberly and potentially the future queen. The king apparently thought that that would be enough to stop the families expecting much correspondence from the girls, as a large part of being a lady-in-waiting was the ability to be discreet. The girls themselves, Maxon said, were sworn to secrecy – if anyone was found to have sent home information about their true purpose at the palace, they were to be immediately eliminated from the Selection, and when they returned home, they would be monitored until the end of the competition to preserve the secret.

Clarkson had also set up a new position at the palace – a special advisor whose job it was to monitor the girls' families, as well as the girls themselves, during their stay at the palace – to make sure that they were 'suitable' for life as the future queen, and to ensure that their families retained their usefulness, I guessed.

From the original 35 that Clarkson and his advisors had chosen, only 14 remained. One had been sent home for trying to tell her family about the palace – one of her letters had been read in a random check, and she was dismissed immediately. Maxon had sent a few home at their request – two were in relationships that had begun after my Selection had started, but somehow hadn't been picked up by the king's advisors. Since this Selection was a secret, the girls hadn't been visited by a palace official to go over the rules like I was, which might have given them a chance to refuse, despite what their family might have expected. A few others had decided that, even with the heightened security and the secrecy surrounding the new Selection, the risk of more Renegade attacks was too great and that they would rather go home than take that chance. The rest had been eliminated on the advice of Clarkson's special advisor.

Maxon said that he had just been blindly following the advisor's suggestions. This tactic seemed to have the additional benefit that Clarkson wasn't watching him quite so intensely, perhaps thinking that removing the bad influence (namely me, although Celeste may also have been factored into that equation) from the palace had returned Maxon to his previous obedient self. All the girls seemed virtually identical anyway, he'd confided – they were all fluent in at least one foreign language; they were all demure and soft-spoken and charming; and none of them were below a Three. Clarkson wasn't taking any chances, not after both Marlee and I were such public disasters.

He also gave me news of the Northern Renegades. He had met with Georgia and August twice since I left, once before our letters started, and then again just a few weeks ago. Maxon had managed to smuggle them one of Gregory Illéa's diaries without his father noticing, which in itself was almost a miracle. They'd returned with hundreds of questions, but they all came down to one thing: was there a way to remove the caste system without causing mass confusion?

They hadn't managed to find a solution yet, but Maxon was confident that they would think of something eventually.

On my end, I told him about Astra, my niece whom I had never met before. I told him about Kota, who had come home once and had only stayed for a very awkward two hours before leaving to finish a sculpture he was working on without even saying goodbye. I told him about May, who was hating school but was growing in both talent and inspiration in her painting. I told him about Gerad, who still refused to choose a speciality – when he tried painting again, he covered a canvas in pictures of cartoon footballs, and when he tried sculpture, he made a giant bug.

I didn't tell him about the two marriage proposals I'd received since I got home, simply for being a member of the Elite.

I didn't tell him about how tired my mother looked when she had to watch over Astra so Kenna could go to work at the factory.

And I didn't tell him about the look that crossed my father's face when the Selection, the palace, or the royal family was mentioned on the radio. The look that echoed the pain that I saw in my own face when I looked in the mirror every morning.

The look that told me that he was as sad for the future I had lost, with someone I loved and who loved me, as I was.

 **Hey guys! Thank you so much for sticking with this story so far – reading your reviews seriously makes my day and leaves me with a smile on my face for ages, so thank you** **.**

 **So this chapter is a bit different from the previous ones – it's a fair bit shorter, and it's kind of a filler chapter, because it doesn't really move the plot forward, but it's also important because it is setting things up for the next part of the story. If you didn't like this chapter as much, that's fine – I know it's a lot of exposition without any real, you know, action, but the plot will start to move forward again in the next chapter. I'm pretty sure I could have found a better/more stylistic way of writing this chapter, but I just wanted to get it out of the way to get to the next part of the story.**

 **Anyways, thanks again for reading this story, and I hope you're liking it so far!**

 **NewtPevensie xoxoxo**


	8. Rhea

_My dearest America,_

 _I hope your training as a teacher is still going well – I think you'd be a wonderful teacher. Except maybe for really young children. Or students close to our age. Or children in between that. (Joking. You'll do great.)_

 _Father is starting to take a more direct interest in this Selection. Before it was all through his advisor, but now he's actually summoned me to his office a few times to give me his own opinions directly, which has led to more eliminations. I think he wants this Selection over as soon as possible, given what happened last time. I think he's hoping that the shorter it is, the less likely it is that one of the girls will do something 'improper,' even as he keeps testing them._

 _There are only 14 girls left now. Father expects me to announce the Elite in the next couple of weeks – the full 10 this time, not 6, since the Renegades theoretically aren't a problem for the Selected._

 _He's also starting to really push one of the candidates – Rhea, a Two from Hudson. He thinks she's practically perfect – dignified, the daughter of a senior politician, and agrees with everything he says. There are a couple of others that he might accept as suitable, but the hints he's leaving about Rhea are honestly so far beyond anything appropriate that there is no way I can tell him I can't stand her. Some of the things she's said to me would make your hair stand on end._

 _But I don't think there's a way to refuse Father when he's like this. Even if I try to tell him, he'll probably announce our engagement anyway, with no way for me to deny it without calling him a liar in front of the entire country. You can probably imagine how well that would go._

 _I just don't know what to do._

 _Write soon, my America._

 _Love,_

 _Maxon._

 _Dear Maxon,_

 _Training is fine, I suppose. My instructor is a pain, but that somehow gives me the added motivation that the faster I complete this stage of studying, the sooner I'll be rid of him. That's how you're meant to motivate yourself through life, right?_

 _If you think Rhea will make you that unhappy, you have to say something. Or at least, you have to find one of the others that Clarkson might still accept, but you might actually be able to stand being in the same room for an extended period of time. Obviously, that's easier said than done, but short of straight-up running away, I'm not sure you have many other viable options._

 _How's your mother? How is she dealing with a new set of girls in the palace, having just got used to us? Is there anyone she particularly likes?_

 _May keeps asking if I could ask Aspen to send a few more of those strawberry tarts – she loved them so much the first time, but I don't think he could do that. However, I just so happen to have another contact in the palace who has a tiny bit more pull than a lowly guard… you wouldn't be able to source a recipe or something, would you?_

 _Love you_

 _America._

 _PS. You could always just eliminate Rhea outright. Not sure how your father would react though._

 _America,_

 _That's it._

 _I could run away. Just pack a bag and leave the palace behind forever. I don't want to be king if Father will always be leaning over my shoulder, trying to control my decisions. If he's taking an interest in choosing my wife, that means he wants to be able to control her as well as me. If that is the case, why should I even try to be king? If I left, I would be free. I could do whatever I wanted._

 _We could be together._

 _This could be our last chance. If I stay, Father will never let me see you again. But if I leave, we could build a life together, away from the cameras, away from the public eye… Away from him._

 _I want that more than anything. Don't you?_

 _Write soon, my America._

 _Love,_

 _Maxon._

 _Maxon_

 _What are you thinking? I was joking! You can't leave! If you do, Clarkson won't have anything stopping him from continuing to rule Illéa like this, something we both know is wrong. What would August and Georgia say? Do you really think they would agree with this reckless idea of yours?_

 _I want to be with you more than anything else in the world, but don't you think that your duty to Illéa is important enough to overrule that? Clarkson can't remain as king forever. And you are his only heir. I have to believe that when you take the throne, you will be able to change our country for the better, especially with August's support. Who will do that if you leave?_

 _And even if I did come with you, how exactly do you think we could hide from Clarkson? His first priority would be to get you back, one way or another – and, let's face it, we are fairly recognisable, as the Prince of Illéa and a member of the Elite (and not the most nondescript one, at that)._

 _I love you, Maxon. But you can't run from who you are._

 _America._

 _Dear America,_

 _Don't you think I know that? By leaving, Father will have nothing to stop him from increasing inter-caste hatred, and the country may fall apart. But I have no way of stopping him from doing that if I stay either. He just won't listen to anyone. If I go, I might make him focus on something other than attempting to 'appease the lower castes' and in doing so making things infinitely worse. Any time I can buy means more time for us to think of some way to_

 _I might have been able to stick it out if Father wasn't insisting on having me marry by the end of the year – and to someone other than you. I can't stand Rhea, and am indifferent to the others. None of them has anything on you._

 _I don't want this life. What I told you all those months ago was true: if I could choose my own path, I would be a photographer, a Five, just like you were. I could do something I love, with someone I love._

 _If you still think this is a terrible idea, I won't leave. I'll stay at the palace, in contact with August, and try to stop my father from making the already-tense situation here worse. I'll marry Rhea, and be the picture of an obedient son. If you think that is what I should do, I will do it gladly._

 _But if you agree, wait for my message._

 _Choose quickly, America. I have mere weeks before Father expects me to choose my bride._

 _Yours forever,_

 _Maxon._

 _Dear Maxon,_

 _This is a stupid idea._

 _But yes._

 _America._

 **Hi guys! Hope you enjoyed this chapter – finally moving the plot forward a bit** **.**

 **Some of you have been asking when I was planning on updating, and I just wanted to answer that for everyone: generally, I plan on updating every 2 weeks or so, although when I get back to university it may be more like once every 3 weeks (with any luck). Just wanted to clear that up!**

 **Anyways, thanks for reading this story, and hang in there – I have the next few chapters planned, just not written quite yet**

 **NewtPevensie xoxoxoxo**


	9. The North Star

Three weeks after sending my last letter, I still hadn't received a reply from Maxon. I tried to carry on my life as normal, but I kept being distracted by various daydreams – where we would go; how we would hide; what it would be like to be alone with Maxon, without worrying about my maids or Aspen or anyone coming in…

Interspersed with these simultaneously hopeful and nervous thoughts were more anxiety-inducing ones: why hadn't he replied? Had Clarkson found out about our letters? Had Maxon decided to stay at the palace?

With every day that passed without a word, the latter seemed increasingly likely.

Four days later, I came down to breakfast to a parcel waiting at my seat. May and Gerad were eyeing it curiously, while both my parents tried to seem uninterested, but were failing miserably.

'It just arrived,' Mum said to me as I looked at it in bewilderment. 'This man just handed it to Dad when he answered the door, apparently. Didn't answer any questions – only said, "For America", then left.'

I frowned, then a lightbulb switched itself on in the back of my mind. What if this was Maxon's message?

Suddenly eager, I ripped the brown paper off. A white box greeted me, which I opened carefully. Inside were a dozen of the palace's strawberry tarts. May squealed in delight, already reaching for one, only to be promptly reprimanded by Mum.

'There's a note,' Dad said, pointing. An envelope was wedged between a row of tarts and the side of the box. I plucked it from the box and tore it open.

 _For the Singers_ , the letter declared.

My heart stopped.

It was Maxon's handwriting.

 _As far as your family can know, these are from Aspen. He's friends with one of the cooks and she let him take a few. One of his fellow officers was on his way home on leave, and since he also lived in Carolina, Aspen thought this was the perfect opportunity to deliver them._

I relayed this information to my family. 'How sweet that Aspen is,' Mum cooed. 'He'll make a girl very happy someday, I should think.' I ducked my head, allowing my hair to hide both my blush and my smile.

With a promise to May that she would be allowed one tonight, I excused myself and fled to my room.

 _As you have probably guessed by now, this is indeed the message I asked you to wait for. I'm sorry that it has taken me this long to reply, but there were many elements that had to be put in place before I could tell you anything._

 _I can only give you the barest details, my dear. You must be ready to leave tonight. The sooner we leave, the better. At midnight, head to the treehouse where you used to meet Aspen. Someone will join you – they will take you to the place where I will meet you. Look unto the North Star when they find you. It will show you the way._

 _Yours forever,_

 _Maxon._

I sat back on my bed and stared at the wall. Tonight. I was leaving tonight. I'd known I was leaving – had been looking forward to it, even – but now it was staring me in the face. And I didn't know what to expect.

Dad was in the workshop at the back of the house, where he and May worked on their paintings. Having added the finishing touches to a piece commissioned by a Three who wanted something to decorate her office, he set down his paintbrush and caught sight of me lingering in the doorway.

'Hey, kitten,' he said, untying his apron.

'I have something I need to tell you,' I said.

He nodded at the old sofa in the corner. I sank into its faded cushions, tucking my feet under me as he took a seat next to me. 'What's the matter?'

I bit my lip. 'The tarts, this morning… they weren't from Aspen.' Dad raised an eyebrow.

'They were from Maxon.'

At that, Dad sucked in a breath, then frowned. 'I'm guessing this wasn't the first correspondence you've received from him since you left the palace?'

A tiny smile tugged at the corners of my lips. 'No.'

'How long have you been speaking?' Dad asked curiously.

'A few months? He had to wait for the king to stop watching him constantly before he could find a way to send me a letter.'

Dad's frown had given way to a fond smile, even as his eyes stayed wary. 'That boy really does love you, doesn't he?'

My shy answering smile was all the reply Dad needed. He squeezed my hand tightly. 'So what's the matter?' he repeated.

'The note that came with the tarts… it said–'

'Helloooo!' May sang as she came into the workshop. Seeing me, she stopped short. 'Mer, what are you doing in here? You never come to the workshop.' She grinned mischievously. 'Do you want me to paint you? Oh, please say that's it, I've been wanting to try to paint your hair for aaaages.'

All at once, she picked up on the tension emanating from the sofa. 'Did I interrupt something?'

I made a face. 'Actually, it's probably better that you're here too.' I patted the arm of the couch and she perched on it next to me.

I took a deep breath. 'I'm leaving.'

'You're… what?' May suddenly sounded very young. 'Why?'

'There's a new Selection happening at the palace. The king wants Maxon to marry within the next few months… but he still loves me. And I love him.' I looked at my sister, willing her to understand. 'If we don't leave now, we never can. So I'm leaving. Tonight.'

I realised that Dad hadn't said anything yet. I tried to meet his eyes, but he was staring out of the window. His face was expressionless.

'Dad?' I whispered. 'What are you thinking?'

He turned his head and met my gaze. 'As sad as I am that you're leaving… I'm glad you've found someone you are willing to risk everything for.'

'You aren't going to stop her?' May frowned. 'How come?'

Dad looked up at my sister. 'Your sister is very lucky, May. She's found the thing most people spend their lives searching for. So no, I won't stop her.' His gaze shifted back to me. 'But I will ask you to be careful… and to tell us what's happening when you're together again.'

My eyes filled with tears. 'I will,' I promised thickly. Then I threw my arms around him, hugging him tightly. I felt May wrap her arms around my waist, almost crushing the breath out of me.

I drew back. 'Can you tell Mum tomorrow? I had to tell you – I couldn't stand the thought of leaving without an explanation. But Mum won't understand. But once I'm gone, she can't stop me. Tell her… I love her. And that I'm sorry.'

'Of course,' May said softly. Dad simply nodded once, then squeezed my hand again.

Somehow, that was all the reassurance I needed.

At ten to twelve that night, I gave May a final hug, kissed my father on the cheek, and slung my bag on my back. I opened the window in my room and climbed out. I gave them one final smile, heard them whisper 'Good luck,' then dropped to the ground.

I crept across the backyard, then clambered into the treehouse. I hadn't brought a candle or a torch out, so I was left in total darkness. After a few minutes, my eyes started to adjust to the gloom, so by the time a head popped up in the opening of the treehouse, I was able to see long hair, a small nose, and wide eyes reflecting back the light of the moon.

The girl shifted, and I noticed something glinting on the lapel of her jacket, catching the moonlight. Squinting, I was able to make out an eight-pointed star. Four of the points were longer than the others, so it looked like the symbol for a compass pointing North on a map… _Look unto the North Star._ That's what Maxon meant!

At least I knew I had the right person.

I jumped down from the treehouse and followed the girl over the wall separating our backyard from the road leading out of town. Somehow, despite my clumsiness, I managed to do it both relatively quietly and without hurting myself, so when I straightened, I had an irrationally smug smile on my face. That smile faded when two men rounded a corner and noticed two girls lurking in the dark well after curfew. With a yell, they started running at us.

I felt the girl tugging at my arm.

'Run!' she hissed.

Thankful that I wasn't wearing a skirt, I sprinted behind the girl down the road, then swerved round a corner, dodging bins left out for the next morning as we ran through an alley. We kept taking seemingly random turns, until a stitch stabbed me in the side. I drew up short, panting, and touched my toes in an attempt to lessen the pain. The girl realised I wasn't with her anymore, so hurried back to my side. Whispering in case the men were still nearby, which I doubted, given our mad dash away, she said, 'We have to keep going, America. Just a couple more blocks.'

I grimaced, but straightened anyway. True to her word, two blocks later we surfaced in a cul-de-sac where a run-down black car was waiting.

At a nod from the girl, I clambered into the car. I had rarely been in a car before, the last time being when one brought me home from the airport when I returned from the palace. I awkwardly took my rucksack off, stowing it by my feet.

The engine purred to life – apparently the exterior was a front for the obviously well-maintained car – and I nodded in thanks as the girl melted back into the shadows.

'Seatbelt, please.' The driver, dressed all in black, was barely visible in the darkness. As I clicked it into place, we moved off smoothly, barely making a noise. I slumped back in my seat, abruptly exhausted from the hour and the emotional rollercoaster that today had been.

I realised that I had no idea what the plan was now. I leaned forward and asked the driver my most pressing question. 'Where are we going?'

'Clermont, miss. Tallahassee, to be precise.'

Tallahassee. I'd never heard of it before. But it was in Clermont, where Celeste was from. Maybe we could see her before we started on the next leg of our journey. I knew Maxon wouldn't risk staying in the place where we met – enough people would know about it that it probably wouldn't be safe to stay for long. But I liked the sound of it – a place for a fresh start. A place to start a new life.

A place to start a home.


	10. Tallahassee

I woke the next morning with a jolt that sent a pain shooting through my neck. Sleeping awkwardly sitting up had left me with a crick in my neck that I knew would take a while to work out, but as I rolled my head and shoulders to try and loosen the muscles, I tried to get my bearings. We'd left Carolina behind several hours ago while I was sleeping, but I wasn't sure where we were now.

Moving slowly to minimise the pain, I leaned forward. 'Where are we?'

The driver glanced back. 'We're just arriving.' He drove in silence for a minute. 'There should be a bottle of water in one of the doors, if you're thirsty.'

Now that he mentioned it, I realised I was parched. True to his word, I found a bottle in the door next to me and took a big swig.

The car stopped suddenly, almost making me spill water everywhere.

'This is it,' the driver announced.

I looked out of the window. We had stopped by a small house down a quiet road, with a small patch of overgrown grass outside and slightly dirty windows.

I got out of the car, slinging my rucksack over one shoulder. The driver made a shooing gesture with his hand, then started the engine up again and the car purred away.

Unsure what to expect, I knocked on the door.

A few agonizing seconds of silence later, a bolt slid back and a key turned in a lock. The door creaked open.

Maxon stood in the opening.

I froze as the last six months of missing him hit me all at once, building up until a small sob escaped. The next thing I knew, I was in his arms, hugging him so tightly I was probably hurting him, but he was holding onto me just as tightly.

Eventually we drew apart, simultaneously remembering that we were supposed to be hiding, and that standing in the doorway was likely to draw attention at some point. Taking my hand, Maxon pulled me inside the house and shut the door, drawing the bolt across and locking it for good measure.

I let my rucksack slip off my shoulder, dropping it on the floor by the wall. The silence inside the house grew as I realised that neither of us had said anything yet. But somehow talking didn't seem right, or necessary, or anything like that. Instead I lifted my arm and stroked Maxon's cheekbone with my thumb. I raised my gaze to meet his. He seemed to be drinking me in, trying to see if anything about me had changed since we were last together.

He let go of my hand, slipping his arm around my waist instead to draw me closer. He dipped his head and his lips met mine, warm and familiar, and for a while, everything faded and my mind went blank.

Later, I asked him how he'd managed to get away.

'It took me a while to get things set up, but once I got your reply, I knew that the best time to get away would be when I wasn't in Angeles at all,' he explained, playing with my fingers. 'Father wanted me to go on a tour of the southern states, to try and rally support for him and cool support for the Southern Renegades. I went along with it, hoping he would just see an obedient son following his father's orders.' He rolled his eyes. 'Which I was – to an extent. I was attentive in planning meetings, efficient in completing preparations… but I also made sure that there were a few of my own officers in my retinue.' He broke off to flash me a smile. 'Our friend Aspen has been a godsend. Without him, I would never have been able to set this up. He led my retinue, in fact. He handpicked many of the guards who came with us – ones he trusted. He may also have 'accidentally' left a copy of the guard rotation in my room when he came to make his nightly security report when we were in Midston. A copy which may or may not have highlighted when each pair of guards would be where… and when the pair outside my door would be moving to the next location, and their replacement pair would be on their way to my door, which would give me a few minutes to leave without anyone noticing.'

I frowned. 'Won't Aspen be held accountable for your escape? If Clarkson realises how you knew when the guards would be between shifts…' I tailed off, not wanting to think about the possible repercussions Aspen might suffer if his part in this was discovered.

'He won't,' Maxon said confidently. 'For one, I made sure to bring the copy of the rota with me, so they won't find it anywhere in the room – I figured that even if I'd burned it, they might have found a scrap or two. Second, Aspen wasn't actually on duty that night, which meant he shouldn't be held responsible for actually letting me escape. As for the other guards… well, Clarkson won't be happy, but he shouldn't be able to blame any of them for anything – they followed protocol exactly, and I issued orders each night not to be disturbed until the next morning, but even that isn't unusual. They won't have discovered I was gone until someone came to wake me and found I wasn't there, which gave me about five hours' headstart, by which time I was most of the way here.'

I shifted, curling closer into his side. It wasn't perfect, but it was a strong defence for all the guards involved.

'Okay,' I murmured. 'Then what? You didn't just walk here from Midston.'

'Part of the reason why I took so long to answer was that I needed to speak to August. Make some arrangements before I left. Unfortunately, that took a while. But once we had spoken, he promised me his help to get away – after a long argument. He thought I should stay to take over from my father; he said I was being selfish by leaving. I said this was the first time in my life where I could decide what I wanted to do, and that I was going to do it with or without his help. I said that he could have the throne when my father died – I didn't want it. He caved, but with the caveat that if he needed us, we had to at least hear him out.'

'That seems… fair?' I didn't really see why August might want our help if we were no longer anywhere near the palace, but he must have his reasons for extracting that promise from Maxon.

'Yeah… Well, after August agreed to help, he said I was to get to a specific address in Orlea, close to where we were staying, and that someone would take me here. He contacted the Carolina cell of Northern Renegades to get someone to do the same for you, and now here we are.' He squeezed my hand, pressing a soft kiss to my temple.

'Here we are,' I murmured, slightly distracted by the feeling of his lips on my skin. 'So what do we do now? I'm guessing we can't just stay here – we probably attracted a fair bit of attention, two unknown cars arriving then simply disappearing without a word.'

'Georgia thought we should stay here in Clermont. She also said that she knew of a house that might work for us – it's quite small, but it's out of the way, and people around it are used to people coming and going, so we wouldn't seem out of place.'

'Sounds perfect,' I said slightly breathlessly. Maxon had started kissing his way down my throat, and I arched my neck to allow him better access. 'Where is it?'

'Just outside Miami.' He kissed my collarbone. 'How about no more questions for a while?'

I couldn't have agreed more.

 **Hey guys!**

 **Sorry this chapter's a bit late – I just moved into my uni flat and have spent the last few days settling in. I'm planning on updating again before classes start, but after that it might be a slightly longer wait between chapters, but it still shouldn't be more than about 3 weeks.**

 **Anyways, hope you enjoyed this chapter!**

 **Love**

 **NewtPevensie xoxoxox**


	11. Kidnapped

The next morning, I awoke to Maxon shaking my shoulder.

'America. I'm sorry, my dear, but you need to get up. We're leaving.'

I pushed myself into a sitting position, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. Blinking a couple of times, I processed what Maxon was telling me. 'We're leaving? When?'

'As soon as you're dressed.' He left me to change, and as I buttoned my shirt I heard the _whirr_ of a coffee machine. He knew me well.

I shoved my last few possessions back into my bag – I hadn't taken much out, only a toothbrush, a hairbrush, and my clothes from yesterday. Then I padded through to the kitchen, where I lingered in the doorway, just watching Maxon make breakfast.

He looked completely different from the prince I'd met all those months ago at the palace. No longer stiff and formal, ramrod straight with tension marking every line. He hadn't softened, exactly, but he looked more comfortable; with himself, with the world. No longer dressed in the suits expected at the palace, he wore a pair of dark jeans and an unremarkable but well-worn red flannel shirt. The clothes fit him well, so that the movement of the muscles in his back was visible from where I stood. My eyes wandered further down.

Maxon turned around holding two cups of steaming coffee. My gaze flicked up to meet his, and I reddened as I noticed his smirk.

Handing me one of the mugs, he pressed a chaste kiss to my lips. 'Morning.'

'Hey.'

'I'm sorry I had to wake you – you looked very peaceful. But we need to get moving. The longer we're here, the longer my father has to start looking for me in earnest. I'd rather be further away before that happens.'

Taking a sip of my coffee, I pretended to look thoughtful. 'You're forgiven. But only if I get to have some food before we leave.'

As if on cue, the toaster _ding_ ed. Maxon smirked and set his own mug down on the side to grab the toast and spread both slices with liberal amounts of jam. Bowing, he presented them to me with a flourish. 'If my lady is satisfied, her carriage awaits.'

I grinned and gulped down the last of my coffee.

Ten minutes later, we were in the car. Maxon said two cars had pulled up in front of the house just before he woke me up. The driver of one had got out, posted the keys through the letterbox, and slipped into the passenger seat of the other car, which had immediately driven away. A note had been posted through with the keys. The only thing on the note was a number and a street name – the address of the house Georgia had suggested.

Since we weren't quite sure exactly where the house was, even with the address, we'd agreed that we needed to stop somewhere first, where we could gather a few things – like a map, and a few more sets of clothes. And because we were in Clermont, Maxon suggested that we could stop at Celeste's in Orlando. He had somehow managed to find her address from her application for the Selection before he left – because he'd known we were heading for Clermont, he wanted to have a back-up plan in case things went wrong, so we also had a set of directions to get there.

But first we needed to get there. Which was starting to seem a bit unlikely.

'Maxon, are you sure you know how to drive?'

' _Yes_ ,' he insisted. 'It's just – _dammit_ – been a while.' He'd managed to get the engine to start, but getting his feet to work in harmony to get us moving seemed to be a bit past him this early in the morning. The engine kept stalling, so we'd jolt forwards a few feet, before coming to an abrupt halt, followed by a string of curses from Maxon, which I was sure he'd learned from the guards – I couldn't think of anywhere else a prince could have learned such foul language.

'Ha!' he cried triumphantly. He'd apparently remembered how to get the car to actually move without stalling, and was obviously very proud of that fact. Whatever. We were off.

After a few minutes of too-sharp turns and the engine protesting at the odd gear changes, something seemed to click inside Maxon, and the journey became a lot smoother. Once he was confident that he actually remembered how to drive like a semi-normal human being, he glanced over at me.

'It's coming back now. Like riding a bike – you never forget.'

'But like a bike, it can get rusty?' I quipped. Maxon rolled his eyes and grinned at my atrocious joke.

After driving in companionable silence for a few minutes, Maxon reached for a dial on the dashboard and turned on the radio.

'We should probably keep a tab on what the story is when my father finds out I'm gone,' he explained. 'He isn't just going to let me go – and people will expect to see me on the Bulletin at some point. So he's going to have to come up with a story to justify why I'm not there. And I don't know about you, but I'd rather know what it was that he's claiming I've done than not.'

I nodded my assent and settled back to listen to the news.

' _Good morning, Illéa. I bring grave news straight from the palace. King Clarkson himself has just made a statement pertaining to the tour of the southern states recently embarked upon by his son, Prince Maxon.'_

The soothing voice of the newsreader was replaced by the harsher tones of the king. He didn't seem worried or anxious – rather, his voice was laced with anger that he couldn't quite conceal.

' _Citizens of Illéa. I wish that I did not have to make such a serious announcement this early in the day, but this crime cannot be concealed from you. The Renegades, so long a threat to the peace that has reigned in Illéa for almost a century, have now gone further than they ever have before, and by their action now threaten the future of Illéa itself.'_

Maxon and I exchanged a look of confusion. Where was this going?

' _I regret to announce that Prince Maxon, heir to the throne of Illéa, has been kidnapped by the Renegades.'_

I gasped. Maxon gritted his teeth and tightened his grip on the wheel, to the point that his knuckles turned white. Both of us understood the implications of Clarkson's lie. If the Renegades had been feared before, they had just become even more redoubtable, if they had supposedly managed to get through the royal guards. Georgia and August would never be able to gain the momentum they needed to bring about change.

But the worst was yet to come.

' _Due to this atrocious crime, I have decided to make membership of a group such as the Renegades punishable by death. If any citizen of Illéa is found to either be a Renegade, or to have been aiding them, they will be publicly executed. The curfew in towns will now be brought forward to ten o'clock. Anyone without explicit permission to be out after this time will be taken in for questioning. This affront to Illéa will not stand.'_

I yelped as Maxon suddenly slammed on the brakes and pulled the car over. In seconds, we had stopped by the side of the road, he'd undone his seatbelt and he was out of the car.

Once I'd managed to extricate myself from my own belt, I followed him. He was pacing and yelling at the sky, swearing so much I was glad there was no one else on the road, because Maxon would have drawn a lot of attention.

'How dare he? _How dare he?_ He knows perfectly well I wasn't kidnapped by the Renegades. He could have said I was going away for a few months. That I was working on a trade deal. He could have said anything. And he decides to do the one thing that will make those that hate my family flock to fill the Renegades' ranks, and make everyone else refuse to listen to even the mention of the Renegades actually trying to bring about change. He thinks he's in total control – but he's just going to make everything worse.'

Maxon kept ranting while I just stood by, watching the road in case anyone else passed us, letting him get it out of his system. Finally, he ran out of steam.

'Maxon.' He didn't move. ' _Maxon_.' He raised his head to look at me, looking a bit sheepish. 'There's nothing we can do about it now. Once we get to Celeste's, we can figure out what to do about this. If anything, it might give us a bit of a reprieve. If people knew you'd run away, they'd be on the lookout. But if they think you've been kidnapped, well, they're not going to expect to see you at a supermarket in the middle of Clermont, are they?'

Maxon stayed still, trying to absorb my argument. Eventually he took a deep breath, regaining control of himself, and nodded.

We made the rest of the drive to Orlando in silence.

 **Hey guys!**

 **Sorry this update is a bit late – I went back to uni and have been settling in, and now lectures have started – basically, I haven't had much time.**

 **Also I've realised that I've been calling the rebels Renegades – not sure why that's happened, but I'm just going to keep going with that (it doesn't seem too out of place) (I hope).**

 **Anyways, hope you enjoyed this chapter! Leave a review – it means the world to me when you guys take the time to tell me what you thought**

 **Love**

 **NewtPevensie xoxox**


	12. Celeste

Celeste's house was massive. It probably could have fit three of my own houses inside it, no problem. Painted cream, it had windows that took up half the walls, letting the Clermont sunshine stream in.

When we pulled up outside, I leaned back in my seat for a second and let my head swing round to face Maxon.

'I know we're both very recognisable, but people aren't actually actively looking for me.'

Maxon sighed. 'Fine. Give me a wave if I can come in?'

My eyebrows quirked and I gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. 'Back in a sec.'

I got out of the car, somehow managing not to get my foot caught in the door.

The front door was set a few metres back from the road, up a paved path and a set of stairs. Glancing quickly over my shoulder, and getting a thumbs up from Maxon in the car, I took a deep breath and rang the bell.

The echo of the bright peal of the bell had only just faded away when the door swung open to reveal a middle-aged man dressed in black.

'May I help you?' His voice was smooth and calm, but tinged with annoyance.

'I'm a friend of Celeste's. Could I speak to her?'

The man's eyes narrowed. 'Miss Celeste does not normally get … visitors like you,' he said, running his eyes over my messy hair, my slightly crumpled T-shirt and jeans. I got the feeling that 'visitors' was a much milder term than he wanted to use, but until he knew who I was, he wasn't going to insult me outright. 'You seem familiar… how is it that you know Miss Celeste?'

My mind went blank. I couldn't think of any reason why I might have met Celeste without giving away who I really was. 'I –'

'Philip, who's at the door?'

My head snapped up to see Celeste descending the huge staircase that dominated the entrance hall. She tossed her head impatiently, flipping her long brown hair out of her eyes, only to freeze as she noticed who, exactly, Philip was talking to in the doorway. Her eyes widened as Philip turned to her, but she paid him no mind, keeping her eyes trained on me. I shook my head subtly, trying to convey that she couldn't tell him who I was.

She must have understood, because she blinked, then was instantly back to her usual unflappable self. 'Catelyn, how lovely to see you! You could have given me some notice, but never mind that – you're here now. And after such a long journey, too. Philip, why don't you get Fay to make Catelyn some food – and for me too, while you're at it. Catelyn must be starving.' Philip looked like he was about to say something, but Celeste snapped before he could speak: 'Go! That's what we pay you for, isn't it?'

Philip pursed his lips and stalked through a door I hadn't noticed before, presumably one that led to the kitchen.

Celeste ran down the last few stairs and wrapped me in a bone-crushing hug. When she let me go, she looked almost sheepish. 'Sorry about that. It's just… I hate to say it, America, but I missed you.'

I grinned. 'I missed you too.' Then my smile faded. 'Celeste… we have a problem.'

She rolled her eyes. 'I somehow guessed that. Carolina to Clermont isn't really a drive you make on a whim.' She tapped her bottom lip with her thumbnail, thinking. 'You came in a car, which means someone drove you, because you can't drive. That someone would have to know where I lived, because you certainly didn't. That person would also have to have a pretty good reason to just up and leave with you. Given the king's radio announcement, I know a certain someone who is no longer where they're supposed to be. Which _means_ ,' – here she leaned round me and waved at the car parked outside her front gate – 'Maxon's here!'

I waved to the car as well, making sure he saw us. 'You wouldn't happen to have a spare bedroom, would you?'

Celeste's answering smirk was positively evil.

.

.

We managed to get Maxon up into Celeste's room without any of the household staff – of whom there seemed to be many – noticing us. When Philip arrived with two freshly-prepared meals, Celeste grabbed the tray, shoved it at me, and practically slammed the door in Philip's face.

'This is more fun than I've had in _ages_ ,' she declared, moving a pile of magazines off a small table before gesturing at me to put the tray down. 'I've been going out of my mind – after all that fun at the palace, everything here seems so boring.'

I caught Maxon's eye, then swiftly looked away, both of us trying to stifle our smiles at Celeste's theatrics. To distract myself, I passed one of the plates of food to Maxon and took the other for myself as we sat on the floor. Neither of us had eaten since breakfast early this morning, so I for one was starving.

'Anyway,' Celeste sighed, flopping down on her bed. 'What are you doing here? Obviously that story the king is telling is a load of bull – unless somehow you managed to get past all of His Highness's guards in Orleans all on your lonesome.'

'I left,' Maxon said simply. 'My father arranged a second Selection for me, starting a few months after you all left. I couldn't stand any of the girls – I was just blindly following what my father told me to do, even just to get a bit of a break. A week before I had to make my final decision, I decided I couldn't take it anymore, especially because when I became king, with a woman I hated by my side, my father would still be trying to control me from behind the scenes. So I left.' He reached for my hand, twining his fingers with mine. 'And now we can have a life together.'

Celeste made a face. 'I'd forgotten how sappy you both are.' She nudged at my leg with her foot. 'How about you? Where do you come into this?'

'We've been writing for the last few months. We have a friend inside the palace who can speak to both of us without raising suspicion – or, at least, he hasn't yet. He was our go-between. Then I made a joke, which _someone'_ – I looked pointedly at Maxon – 'took a bit too seriously, and started planning. So in a way, it's my fault we're here.' I glanced down at where our hands were still entwined. 'Not that I'm complaining.'

Celeste rolled her eyes. 'Of course you aren't. The heir to the throne of Illéa ran away from his princely duties to be with you. How exactly could you complain? Me, on the other hand… despite my full social calendar, this is basically the most interesting conversation I've since I left. Everyone asks 'What was it like at the palace? Did you speak to the queen often? What did you think of the prince?' Not a single person has asked how I felt to leave. If I've actually done something of my own since then. Almost eight months later, and still everyone asks about the Selection – not about what I might want to do with my life. Anyway,' she said, giving herself a small shake as her face lost the bitter and lonely set that it had been shifting towards, 'that still doesn't explain what you're doing _here_.'

'We have a… friend who's agreed to lend us their house down in Miami. But we need some provisions before we get there. We figured that buying a somewhat eccentric assortment of things here would make it less noticeable when we arrived. And,' I said, grinning, 'I couldn't pass up the opportunity to see what the wonderful Celeste Newsome was doing.'

Our hostess smiled at me ruefully. 'Not that much, if I'm honest. What I want to do, my father won't let me. But staying as a model is just sending me further into the fame rabbit-hole.'

'What is it you want to do?' I asked curiously.

She looked up at me gratefully. 'I want to try my hand at working in the news. Seeing all the work that went into producing the _Bulletin_ really interested me – I stayed behind a few times, asking Gavril and the producer more about what they did. And I think I could be good at it,' she shrugged. 'You need a good camera face if you're a broadcaster, and a cool head to work in more stressful situations. And we both know I was definitely the coolest girl in the Elite,' she said, winking at me.

'Oh, definitely,' I smirked.

'But until I manage to convince my father to let me even get near a news studio, I have plenty of time to help you with getting ready to move to Miami. What sort of things do you need?'

.

.

 **I AM SO SORRY!**

 **I've been getting back into the swing of things at uni and suddenly I have no time to do anything except work. I have planned the next chapter though, so that should be easier to write than this one was and should be up significantly faster.**

 **Anyways, hope you enjoyed this chapter!**

 **Love**

 **NewtPevensie xoxoxox**


	13. I do

**Warning: implications of adult content.**

.

Three days later, we were back on the road. The car was full of tins and dried food, as well as a bag of fresh fruit and vegetables that would last us a couple of days. A separate bag was filled with fresh clothes for each of us – mostly jeans, a few shirts, some pyjamas and several sets of underwear for each of us. Money I had taken out of a few separate cash machines over the days spent at Celeste's was spread throughout the different bags, just in case.

I had worried that the sheer number of shopping bags we'd returned with and then stored in the car would arouse suspicion, but Celeste assured me that when she had guests, most of what they did involved shopping in some form or another, so it wouldn't appear out of the ordinary.

Maxon had managed to find a good music radio station, and I nodded along to the song that was blasting out of the speakers. A few strands of brown hair tickled my face, the air stirred by the cool breeze coming through the rolled-down window. I brushed my hair out of my face, the colour still giving me pause, despite it having been my idea.

Celeste had helped me dye my hair brown, after buying dye in one of our several shopping trips. Maxon had protested at first, but had relented when I reminded him that my hair was somewhat recognisable, and if anyone saw someone that looked like him and a girl with red hair, it might be relatively easy to figure out what had happened.

We'd bought a couple of spare bottles of dye, so keeping it that colour wouldn't be too difficult, and hopefully by the time I'd need to buy more, we would be well-enough established that it wouldn't seem odd.

Tucked away in my pocket was a new mobile phone, with first Celeste, and then Maxon's phone numbers stored on it. For once, Maxon and Celeste had been in agreement – this was a more expensive purchase that I really needed, even if only to stay in contact with Maxon when were in different places.

 _I get the feeling you may want some… female advice at some point in the near future_ , Celeste had whispered slyly as she entered her number into the phone, the _click click_ of her nails against the screen matching the increasing speed of my heart at the thought. She'd practically cackled when Maxon asked why I'd gone bright red.

Celeste had seemed surprised the first night when I asked to stay in her room. She'd already had one of the many guest bedrooms set up, apparently on the assumption that Maxon and I would be sharing. But despite the fact that he'd left his whole life behind, that I had left my family, that we were on the run… Neither of us wanted to cross that final line. That night we'd spent in Tallahassee, by some unspoken agreement, I'd stayed in the bedroom while he slept on the sofa in the living room. The same law that had stopped me and Aspen from spending the night together still hung over us – one that neither of us felt like we could break, not with our future being so uncertain, and the risks that breaking it carried.

We told Philip that while I appreciated having a room for myself, I might spend a night or two on Celeste's floor, using 'late night girl talk' as the excuse. I'm not sure if he bought it, but between the bed being immaculately made in the morning and then Maxon staying in Celeste's room whenever possible, hopefully we didn't raise any suspicions. At least, I don't think Philip ever actually saw Maxon, which was far more important than whether he thought I was some arrogant Two who needed two beds even in a friend's house.

Suddenly, something buzzed.

'What is that?' I asked Maxon.

'I think it's my phone,' he replied, a crease appearing on his forehead. 'I wasn't expecting anything from August, and we just left Celeste's an hour ago. So unless something has gone wrong…' he trailed off. 'Could you grab it?'

I leaned over and fished the phone out of his pocket. Swiping it open, I saw a notification popping up on the screen.

 _1 Message: August Illéa._

I tapped on the notification, opening the text. I frowned, then read it out loud to Maxon.

'It says, "I can have someone waiting for you when you arrive, if that's what you want."' I looked at him quizzically. 'Do you know what he means?'

'I do.' He bit his lip. 'But my answer somewhat depends on you.'

'On me?' I asked, confused. 'But I don't know what he's talking about.'

Maxon quickly glanced at the rear-view and wing mirrors, checking there was no one else on the road, then abruptly pulled over to the side. He cut the engine and turned to face me properly, unbuckling his seatbelt. Taking a deep breath, as though to brace himself, he took my hands in his.

Thoroughly bemused now, I asked, 'Maxon. Who would be waiting for us when we arrive?'

He met my eyes, without a trace of humour. 'A minister.'

I blinked. 'A minister?'

'A minister,' he confirmed. 'But only if you want. If you don't think you're ready, or need some time, or _anything_ ,' he said, putting emphasis on the last word, 'we don't need to do anything yet. Or ever. I just want to be with you.'

The world had slowed to a standstill. Too many emotions were hitting me simultaneously. I could barely think straight.

But one thing was abundantly clear.

'Yes.'

'Yes?'

'Tell August yes.'

Maxon's eyes started to shine like a thousand stars were burning behind them. He slipped a hand behind my head, drawing me towards him, and as our lips met, in that cramped little car, our future together suddenly looked a lot more solid.

.

After another couple of hours in the car, we pulled up in front of a long, low house painted white. A tall man with brown curls stepped out of the front door just as we stopped, as though he had been looking out the window waiting for us – which he no doubt had been. He gestured at us, pointing behind the house.

Maxon stared at him for a second, then registered the instruction. Shifting gears, he reversed the car back down the road slightly, then made a sharp turn down a track that I hadn't noticed before.

The track wound round the side of the house, leading to a paved courtyard where another car was already parked. Pulling up beside it, we both got out to greet the man who had waved us round. He'd just come through the back door, one hand running through his curls as he shook Maxon's hand with the other.

'I'm Daniel. Dan,' he said. 'I'm Georgia's cousin.' He shook my hand, going slightly red. 'Do you want a hand in bringing your stuff in? Jim should be here soon, but we'll hopefully have enough time to get everything sorted first.'

Maxon nodded. 'Thanks.'

It took the three of us a good fifteen minutes to get everything into the house, and another twenty to get all the food away. Neither of us could face unpacking the rest of the bags, but we were saved from that call by the arrival of the minister. Dan let him in quietly, and suddenly it felt like a swarm of butterflies had awoken in my stomach.

I felt rather than heard Maxon come to stand beside me, his arm brushing mine.

'Are you ready?' he whispered.

My heart was beating so hard that I could barely hear my own answer.

'Yes.'

Maxon nodded slowly, then took my hand in his as the minister came to stand in front of us, Dan hanging back slightly behind him.

'I hope you don't mind, but since this isn't a proper ceremony, I am going to keep this short – we both need to be off soon, before anyone notices we're gone,' the minister, Jim, said.

'That's fine,' Maxon said. 'I've been waiting for this moment for far too long.'

Jim's eyebrow quirked. 'Well then, I won't keep you waiting any longer. Take her hands in yours,' he directed. 'Do you, Maxon Calix Schreave, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, to love and to cherish, in sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer, as long as you both shall live?'

'I do.' His vow came out strong and clear, filling me with certainty. This was who I had chosen to spend the rest of my life with – and now, there was nothing to stop us from doing exactly that.

'And you, America Singer, do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, to love and to cherish, in sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer, as long as you both shall live?'

'I do,' I vowed, my voice quiet but still somehow ringing through the small living room.

'Then by the power–' Jim started, before Dan cleared his throat. 'What?'

'I have a wedding present from Georgia and August,' he explained, fumbling in his pocket.

'Couldn't it wait, like, fifteen seconds?' Jim sighed.

Dan grinned. 'Not this one.' He flipped a small black box to Maxon, who opened it, his eyes widening.

'He's right.'

I tried to catch his eye, wondering what was in – oh.

Obviously.

A flash of gold and my suspicions were confirmed. Maxon tilted the box towards me and I plucked the bigger of two simple rings out of the crushed velvet they were nestled in. I slipped it onto the fourth finger of his left hand, then he did the same to me. He kept hold of my hands, squeezing them slightly, the pressure of his fingers on mine keeping me grounded in the here and now.

'Done?' Jim asked Dan, who shrugged sheepishly.

'Then by the power vested in me, I now declare you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.'

Almost before I could register what he had said, Maxon's lips were on mine.

The kiss only lasted a few seconds, but it was so sweet and tender that I could barely open my eyes for another few seconds after he drew away.

'We'll be out of your way in a minute, but first, I need you both to sign this,' Jim said, producing a sheet of paper from his inside pocket. Laying it flat on the dining table, he handed Maxon a pen. 'It's the marriage certificate. You too, Dan, as witness.'

After all four of us had signed, Jim rolled it up and tucked it back into his inside pocket. 'I'll get this filed, but you don't need to worry about it being found. I'll put it with the files from a few years back, so that even if someone tries to find it, they'll have a hard time doing so. If you ever decide you need it, give Georgia a shout – she'll get a message to me.'

He headed for the back door, Dan following him after a quick 'Congratulations.' The door closed on them. We heard the purr of the car's engine, and a minute later, the sound had faded into the distance.

The silence in the house grew.

I realised Maxon was still standing next to me, waiting. I glanced up at him, to see him just mouthing a word to himself, staring into the distance.

I put my hand on his arm, trying to bring him back to the present. 'Maxon, are you alright?' My worry was clear even in those four words.

His eyes focused on me. 'Wife,' he managed to say. 'You're my _wife_.' Catching me around the waist, he lifted me up and spun me round in a circle. When he set me down again, both of us laughing, he didn't let go – instead, he pulled me closer until our bodies were pressed against each other. He dipped his head and kissed me.

Once.

Twice.

My arms wound round his neck, pulling him closer as our kisses grew deeper. Slower. As if we were savouring every moment.

I drew away for a second, running my hand down his chest. His stomach. Until I found the hem of his shirt. I paused.

But only for a second.

Only until he nodded.

I drew his shirt up, over his head, and dropped it on the floor. His lips met mine again, more languorously than before. A wave of heat burned through me.

We stumbled through the house, never letting go of each other, lips never parting for more than a few seconds, leaving a trail of clothes in our wake.

When we reached the bedroom, the door was closed. I barely noticed until I was pressed up against it. One hand tangled in Maxon's hair, holding him to me, I turned the handle. Our combined weights meant we almost fell through it as it opened, but Maxon managed to kick it closed before we collapsed on the bed.

We didn't bother with a light.

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.

 **Hey guys!**

 **I'm so sorry I haven't updated recently – uni has been somewhat hellish, but I only have one week left of term, so I'm hoping to catch up a bit over the holiday.**

 **Anyways, hope you liked this slightly longer chapter – let me know what you thought!**

 **Love,**

 **NewtPevensie xoxoxox**


	14. Time

_Two weeks later_

Maxon and I quickly settled into a routine, working out who was better at doing what, sharing the jobs we both hated. Maxon was a surprisingly good cook for someone who had never needed to do it – apparently it had been a pastime when he was younger and needed to stay out of the way for a while, but had kept it up when he could as he grew up.

We didn't leave the house much – there were still people searching the kingdom for Maxon, and since we still had a fair amount of money, we didn't need to think about getting a job just yet. We could easily manage for another few weeks, just to let the story die down a bit, before getting him a proper disguise that would let us both work. I went into town once a week to buy food, sticking to big shops and busy areas to stay mostly hidden.

That morning, I awoke to sunlight streaming through a gap in the white curtains. Glancing at the clock, I registered it was later than usual, but the bed was so warm and soft that I couldn't bring myself to care.

I shut my eyes again, nestling further into the sheets, but then I felt something brush against my cheekbone. My eyes fluttered open again to see Maxon gazing at me sleepily.

'Hi,' he said, brushing another kiss, feather-light, against my lips.

'Hey,' I murmured, running my hands over his broad shoulders. His lips left mine and started to trace a line down my neck, reaching my collarbone, then travelling back up again. I arched into him, heat brushing through me.

'We don't need to do anything just yet, do we?' he asked against my jaw.

'I can think of a few things that could keep my attention,' I said breathlessly. Maxon's responding grin was mischievous, but I barely caught a glimpse of it before he kissed me, hard, his hands wandering to my waist, then rolling us so I was on top of him, my still-brown hair streaming over both of us.

The feeling of him against me like this was still new, despite sharing a bed for over a fortnight. The planes of his body moving against mine, the caress of his hands… Everything in me wanted more, more, _more_.

 _Ring_.

We both froze in surprise. We weren't expecting a call for another couple of days – Celeste had got into the habit of calling every few days, wanting not-so-subtle updates on our… situation, but she'd called yesterday. And she never called in the morning. Which meant that something was wrong – either with August, or with Celeste.

I rolled off the bed, eliciting a grunt from Maxon as my elbow dug into his side.

'Sorry,' I threw over my shoulder as I picked up my mobile. I pressed the _Accept_ button, and instantly Celeste's panicking voice hit my ear.

' _America! Something's gone wrong, you need to leave, they're coming to look for you!'_ Her voice was getting shriller by the second, speeding up, the words running into each other in her panic.

'Celeste, back up. What happened? Who's coming?' I shot Maxon a worried glance, then put Celeste on speakerphone so we could both listen.

' _It's Philip. He told someone that you were here, and that you were heading to Miami.'_

My stomach dropped. 'How did he know?'

' _He must have heard us last night, and worked out why you seemed familiar. He probably guessed that if you were in Clermont with a fake name, Maxon would be with you too. He didn't say anything til this morning – I went for a run and heard him on the phone as I got back. I don't know who he told, but it can't be good.'_

Maxon's eyebrows drew together in worry. 'If he told… whoever he told that we were staying with you, then you're in as much danger as we are. What are you going to do?'

Celeste's voice faltered. _'I – I didn't think about that. Oh god, what do I do?'_

'We need to work out what we're going to do – where we'll go. But we can't stay here. We can come get you, if you want?' I offered, looking to Maxon for confirmation.

He nodded, then added, 'We'll call you in 20, okay? Think it over. We have another call to make.'

' _Okay…'_ Celeste answered warily. The line cut off.

The phone blinked for a few seconds, then went dark. Neither of us said anything, both of us staring at nothing in horror, minds spinning at the implications of what Celeste had just told us.

Eventually, Maxon spoke. 'We need to call August. Ask what to do.'

I nodded mutely, passing over my phone for him to use.

As he dialled, there was only one thought in my mind, repeating on loop.

 _I thought we'd have longer._

I was shaken out of my thoughts as August's voice came through the phone, louder than I expected.

' _Who is this? How did you get this number?'_

'August, it's Maxon. I'm using America's phone. Listen, we've got a problem.'

' _What? What happened?'_

'We had to stop at one of the other Elite's houses on the way here, to stock up. Her… butler? I think? He worked out who America was, and guessed I was with her. Our friend heard him on the phone – we know he told someone, but we don't know who. We need to leave, but where do we go?'

The other end of the line was silent for a few seconds. I could imagine August sucking on his teeth, running through different options and discarding them just as quickly.

' _Actually… I think you should come back to Angeles. Not to return to the palace,'_ he added hurriedly, guessing correctly that Maxon was about to protest, _'but because I've heard some worrying things about the Southern Renegades in the last few days, and I would rather have you here, safe and protected, and hopefully involved, than on the run somewhere on the other side of the country.'_

Maxon frowned, a deep crease appearing between his eyebrows.

'What's happening with the Southerners?' I asked, suddenly worried for Aspen.

' _I can't tell you much. Just that the attacks are becoming more frequent. We have a mole fairly high up the chain of command – apparently something significant is coming. I don't know what it is, but we're starting to move certain pieces into place. And that includes you being in Angeles. So while I'm sorry you've been found, it's also quite convenient for us.'_

Maxon and I exchanged a look. August could be really quite conniving, but he usually had good intentions. Maxon nodded, so I focused back on the phone. 'Alright. We'll head for Angeles. But first, we need to pick up our friend. If her butler gave us away, he'll have told them about us staying with her, which means she's in as much trouble as we are. She's coming with us.'

August sighed. _'Fine. But no more stops. You can't visit your family, America. I'll make sure they know you're safe, but you going to them will create a bigger risk than is worth taking.'_ Other voices filtered in through the background, indistinct but intense. _'I need to go. I'll see you soon. Keep me posted – call once a day until you get here. When you reach Fennley, I'll get someone to come meet you to take you to our base. Stay as discreet as you can. Good luck.'_ The line clicked off.

The next hour was spent packing – clothes, food, money, anything we could think of. I called Celeste to tell her to do the same. With any luck, we would reach Orlando by late afternoon, and would be able to pick her up and be halfway back to Tallahassee by the time night fell. August had texted us an address where we could stay overnight. I told Celeste to find somewhere recognisable but quiet a few blocks away from her house so that Philip wouldn't see us pulling up to take her away – keeping out of sight was our main priority now. Baseball caps and sunglasses were stashed in the glovebox of the car as a basic disguise for both of us. It wouldn't hold up to any great inspection, but it would at least make detection because of a simple glance less likely.

Twenty minutes later, we were on the road to Orlando, our little haven fading into the distance behind us.


	15. Sunset

Almost a week after we'd set off, we reached Angeles. Despite the constant anxiety that someone would recognise us, or that every police car we passed was on the lookout for us, we made the trip without incident. We had picked Celeste up a few blocks away from her house, looking scared but determined as ever. She hadn't packed much – some clothes, a washbag, a few books ('I don't know how long we'll be sitting around doing nothing!'), a music player ('It's going to take us ages to drive to Angeles, and I'm not doing it without a decent soundtrack'), and a camera she'd found somewhere. It hadn't made an appearance yet, but it was carefully nestled away in her back, wrapped in a shirt.

Celeste wasn't sure what she would do once we reached Angeles, but she'd told us she wanted to help. If that meant documenting whatever 'significant thing' August said was coming, then she'd do that.

Each day, August would text me a new address. Each day, we would drive to that address, to find a house empty of people, but with food and hot water. We'd stay in the safe house overnight, then early the next morning, we'd pack what was left of the food and wait for the next address before setting off again. The days all blurred into each other, Maxon and Celeste sharing the driving, all of us taking turns with the map, finding the fastest route to each place.

We didn't talk much, each of us too wrapped in our own thoughts and fears.

When we arrived at the last address August sent us, just over the state border into Angeles from Fennley, for the first time, the house wasn't empty. A woman with a blue streak in her brown hair was waiting for us. The car pulled up by the house, and without a word, she climbed in the back next to Celeste. She barely said anything to us, giving only one- or two-word directions – 'Next left.' 'Third exit.'

After an hour or so, we arrived at another house. As we pulled over, I noticed a slim figure in a denim jacket darting to the window, then calling something over her shoulder. Georgia.

The woman who'd brought us here got out of the car with a curt nod, and instantly got into another car that had pulled up behind us. In seconds, she was gone.

We got out of the car, grabbing our bags to avoid having to come back outside. The door opened, revealing Georgia waving at us. We hurried inside, keeping our heads low, but not so low that we looked suspicious. After a week of the same drill, we knew how to do that.

'Hey!' Georgia grinned. 'You made it!'

'And in one piece, too.' No longer anywhere the palace, Georgia seemed a lot more comfortable around all three of us – proven by her wrapping me in a hug when I put my bag down.

Maxon, who hadn't spoken in hours, cleared his throat. 'August.'

I extricated myself from Georgia's grasp and saw the man himself coming down the stairs. He seemed older than the last time I'd seen him – more tired, more weight resting on his slanting shoulders, more worry lines on his forehead. The pressure of leading a rebellion.

'Maxon,' August said, stepping round Georgia with the easy grace of an old friend, used to moving with them. He shook his hand, then mine, then Celeste's, his only reaction to her presence being him running a critical eye over her. I understood why – even when on the Bulletin, with no insider information, Celeste hadn't been the most impressive girl in the Selection. 'I do apologise – it's been a long journey, and you must be tired – but I really must speak to you. Alone,' he added, shooting a glance at me and Celeste.

Maxon didn't look pleased with that, but he nodded and followed August deeper into the house – presumably to a room where they wouldn't be overheard.

Georgia rolled her eyes. 'He always did have a flair for the dramatic. Come on,' she said, picking up Maxon's bag. 'I'll take you to your rooms.'

She led us up the stairs, turning right and passing two doors before she stopped. She pushed the next door open. 'This is your room, Celeste. And yours is just next door,' she said to me, pointing. 'I'll send Maxon up once he's finished speaking with August. Make yourselves at home. Bathroom is just across the corridor – the blue door. I'll yell when there's food – you guys must be ravenous.' She laughed at our vigorous nodding, the sound bright and cheery, completely at odds with the dark corridor – the only light came from a small window at the end, but it was getting late and the sun was setting. Then she turned on her heel and headed back down the stairs, her steps light but purposeful.

I looked at Celeste. She shrugged, slipping through the open door and closing it behind her.

Picking up Maxon's bag, I went into my own room. It was quite small, and fairly sparsely furnished – a double bed, a chest of drawers, a mirror on the wall, and a desk and chair. At least there was a big window, letting in the last rays of the fading sun. The room was bathed in an orange glow as the sun hovered, poised to slip down below the horizon.

I dumped our bags, but before anything else, I went to the bathroom. When I returned, considerably more comfortable, I unpacked a few essentials – hairbrush, fresh clothes, toothbrush. Looking at the plastic bag of dirty clothes left in the bag, I needed to ask Georgia about being able to do some washing.

Unsure how to kill the time, I was considering going next door to Celeste's room, but before I could, Maxon came in with a face like thunder.

Whatever August had said to him, he hadn't appreciated it.

'What did he tell you?'

Maxon came and sat next to me on the bed. 'The Southern Renegades are planning to kill my father.'

My breath hitched. How do you respond to that?

'August says he knows enough that he should be able to protect him, or at least be able to take down the Southerners if they try, but he asked me…' His voice cut off, sounding choked. He cleared his throat and tried again. 'He asked me whether I thought we should let them do it.'

My hands flew up to cover my mouth. August couldn't have seriously asked Maxon to decide whether his own father should live or die. He wasn't that calculating.

Wasn't he?

In that moment, I realised how little we actually knew about the man who had brought us here. He had helped us get away from Angeles in the first place, but as soon as it was convenient, he had brought us right back to where we started, but without entrusting us with the reasons why. We had no reason to trust him.

And yet I thought of Georgia. Of the way the hard angles of her face softened when August was around. Of her friend Daniel, who had been the witness at our wedding, who clearly believed in August. Neither of them seemed to have been duped into loving or trusting him. Neither of them seemed to be the type to trust in an unjust cause – I hadn't spent much time with either of them, but what I did know, I liked. Despite all their secrets, they came across as honest and trustworthy.

I decided to reign in my sudden distrust of August. I could always re-evaluate later. But now, Maxon was hurting. And still talking.

'… I mean, I hate him. For what he did to my mother. For everything he's done to me. For making you leave. For trying to control my life. I have so many reasons to want him gone… but he's still my father. I couldn't face myself if I had been able to save him but I let him die out of selfishness or vengeance. I can't do it.' He tipped his face to look at me, his voice breaking. 'I can't do it,' he whispered.

I reached out for him, wrapping my arms around him, just letting him take comfort in being close to someone who cared for him. For a few minutes, the room was quiet, only the sound of our breathing – mine deep and even, Maxon's hitching randomly.

'But I don't want him to be king.' The words were muffled, since Maxon's face was nestled in my neck, but clear enough. I shifted my shoulder and he sat up, meeting my eyes. 'He's on the way to destroying everything good about Illéa while only making the bad things worse. If he keeps broadcasting those adverts, the caste system is going to rip the country apart.'

'So,' I said slowly, 'you don't want him to die, but you don't want him to be king either. But we would still need a leader. Who?'

A strange look crossed his face. 'That was the other thing August said. If my father is deposed, he doesn't want the crown. He thinks I should take it. He called in his favour and everything. He won't make me do it, but I have to consider it. And not in passing. He wants me to take my time – really think it through.'

I opened my mouth, then shut it again. There wasn't really anything I could say that would make this decision easier for him. Instead, I shifted my focus. 'How is he planning to have Clarkson deposed? If the Southerners get to him, they'll kill him. I don't see them agreeing to sending him away and letting you take his place.'

His mouth was a grim slash across his face. 'August has a plan for that as well. If the Southerners get there first, then we would probably be able to get them out of the palace, but my father would already be dead. But if we get there before them, August says he'll be able to get him to step down. Even if he can't, we can get him out of the palace – getting him out of the way and keeping him out of power. If Clarkson isn't in the palace anymore, or has already abdicated, the Southerners won't have a foot to stand on. Whether they come or not, August is pretty sure he knows enough about them to be able to dismantle their leadership without too much trouble, or even just arrest the leaders, especially if I take up his offer and give him my support.'

'His plan is basically for us to get there first?'

His mouth twitched up in a tiny smile. 'Essentially.' The smile faded as quickly as it had arrived. 'America… If I accepted August's offer… You would be queen.' I went very still. 'Is that something you would want?'

I wanted to say no. I wanted to say that I wanted to go back to Georgia's house in Clermont, for it to just be us again. But I owed it to him to think it through, like he'd promised August.

I spoke slowly, trying to choose the right words. 'I've never wanted it – you know how long it took me to accept that I loved you, just because of what it would mean to tie my life to yours. But that was before I had to leave. When we were working on our charity presentations, I realised how much good I could do – working with people to improve Illéa. So, no, it isn't something that I want… but it is something I think we should do. If Clarkson is deposed without you to succeed him, who knows who might take his place?'

Maxon worried at his lip. 'You really think we should do this?' he asked softly.

'Yeah,' I said, almost surprising myself. 'I really do.'

Maxon took a deep breath, steeling himself. Closing his eyes for a second, he reached for my hand, squeezing it when he found it, as though he was trying to anchor himself to something solid. 'Okay.' He opened his eyes. 'Okay.'

'I'm going to be king. And you, America, will be queen.'

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.

 **Hey guys!**

 **Finally uploading again (sorry it's taking a while each time). Hope you enjoyed this chapter – things are starting to heat up again!**

 **I know reviewing takes time many of you don't want to waste, but it really does help keep me motivated to keep writing, so if you have the time, please do review!**

 **Love**

 **NewtPevensie xoxoxox**


	16. Scars

After that, things started happening very quickly. Maxon told August what we had decided, and though he didn't show it, I could tell he was pleased that Maxon had come round to his point of view so easily.

The next day, after breakfast, Celeste and I were told to stay upstairs. It wasn't common knowledge that either of us weren't at home, where we were meant to be, and August wanted to keep it that way, at least until the plan was fully in place. Maxon wanted to be involved in the preparations, but August again wanted him to stay mostly hidden. The only exception was for a meeting of the senior Renegades in the area – the ones that would provide immediate support when we went to the palace. They had wanted assurances that August could deliver on Maxon being a better king than Clarkson – so August had brought him downstairs to tell them himself.

Apart from that, we stayed upstairs, going between our two rooms, only moving for a change of scenery – Celeste's room was at the corner of the house, and had a window looking out over the city, whereas the high point of our view was the road we had driven down.

Occasionally we left the door open, hoping to hear what was being said downstairs. Little snippets of conversation floated up the stairs, but most of it was muffled and indistinct. All we gathered was that 'the Plan,' whatever it was, would start at dusk, and that they were confident that they would pull it off. In itself, that was good to hear, but a part of me wished we were more involved.

It had been long enough since I last dyed my hair that the brown was starting to wash out. I didn't know what it was, but a little voice inside me kept whispering, _'Red. It has to be red when you return.'_

For once, I heeded that little voice, washing my hair again and again until the brown faded so its previous scarlet hue became visible. Looking in the mirror, a piece of the puzzle slotted into place: if I was going to face down Clarkson, I was going to do it as myself, fiery hair and all.

By mid-afternoon, we were allowed to come downstairs – anyone coming to the house at this time would be heading to the palace with us, so they may as well know we were here.

We ate in subdued quiet, until August announced it was time.

'Gather what you need,' he instructed. Then, addressing Celeste directly for the first time, he said, 'Bring your camera.' She frowned, but when we congregated in the hall ten minutes later, her camera was on a strap around her neck.

The five of us – August, Georgia, Celeste, Maxon and I – got into August's car. The car we'd arrived in had left five minutes before with another small group of Northerners, including Georgia's cousin Daniel, the witness at our wedding, to 'scope out the palace,' apparently.

We drove for about an hour as the sun set. We stopped down a cul-de-sac off a road running parallel to the further edge of the palace grounds, behind a ten-foot-high wall. Maxon made to get out of the car, but was restrained by August's hand on his arm.

'Not yet,' he said. There was no anger, or even any real bite behind the words, but it was a clear order. Maxon let go of the door handle, settling back into his seat to wait.

Another half hour passed, then August's phone buzzed. 'They're here,' he announced, slipping out of the car.

With a somewhat bemused exchange of glances, the rest of us climbed out as well. We followed August up the cul-de-sac, to see who, exactly, had arrived, and what that meant for us.

Seven people – presumably more Northerners – stood around a black van. One caught sight of us and waved at August in recognition. The others turned to greet us, introducing themselves one by one.

Then a door on the other side of the van shut with a _thud_ , and I forgot everyone else as I sprinted towards the man who had just rounded the back of the vehicle.

'Dad!'

I hurled myself at him. His arms came up around me, and for a second, weeks of missing him hit me all at once as he stroked my hair.

Gradually I returned to my senses, remembering that we were surrounded by Renegades. I pulled back from his embrace. 'What are you doing here?'

He looked over my head to meet August's gaze. 'You didn't tell her?'

'Tell me what?' I asked automatically, before something else registered. 'Wait, you know each other? How?'

'We've been writing for months, but we only met the other day when I got into town. I've been staying with an old friend here in Angeles for the last three days, waiting for August's call, which came this morning.'

I nodded mutely, trying to process what he was leaving unsaid. Then I noticed something glinting in the light of the streetlamps, and everything clicked together.

A silver pin.

An eight-pointed star.

'You're a Renegade,' I said flatly.

It was his turn to nod. 'I wish I could have told you before. I almost did when you left, but I didn't know what would happen once you left – I couldn't risk you being captured and giving me up. Not that I thought you would,' he added hurriedly, 'only that Clarkson has people who can be… very persuasive.'

I didn't have the chance to press the issue. At that moment, August called for us to follow him. Maxon fell into step next to me, his pinkie brushing mine as a reminder that he was there.

We walked for about fifteen minutes in near silence – a mixture of trepidation and wanting not to draw attention to ourselves, despite the fact that few people were out after dark, even in the capital, and our group of a dozen people dressed in dark clothes wasn't exactly inconspicuous. No one approached us, and we reached a small gate at the corner of the palace walls, on the other side of the park from the palace itself, without incident.

'Service gate,' August explained tersely. 'My contact should be here just about… now.'

As he spoke, a figure moved in the shadows. I couldn't tell who it was – they were entirely covered in a long grey cloak, perfectly melting into the growing darkness. They had a hood pulled over their head, casting their face in shadows.

The figure approached the gate and produced a key. Unlocking the gate, they stepped out of the way to let us all through, before locking it carefully behind us and pocketing the key again. They led us further into the palace grounds, away from the gate – not that anyone was around to notice us – and into the trees. Then they turned round to face us and pulled the hood of their cloak down.

In the darkness, it took me a moment to make out their features. But when I did, Maxon and Celeste's gasps seemed appropriate.

'Your Majesty,' August said, inclining his head respectfully.

'Mother?' Maxon breathed.

Queen Amberly took a step toward her son. 'Hello, Maxon.'

His shock mirrored mine. First my father, now his mother? Who was going to join us next? Celeste's aunt? At this point, I would barely have been surprised to see little Gerad saunter through the trees.

'I– you– what?' Maxon could barely get a sentence out, but his meaning was clear enough.

Amberly smiled sadly. 'I knew that when you left, you would try and find America,' she said, gesturing at me. 'I went to your room to try and find some clue as to where you might go – there was no way you just _left_. You had to have planned it. You'd cleaned up well, but I found something in a book on your desk. I remember reading that book to you as a child – there was no reason for it to be there. You left a scrap of paper inside, with an address not in your handwriting. So I wrote a letter, addressing it to 'Whoever helped my son find his happiness.' I received a wary reply, and have been writing to August ever since. I've been his mole inside the palace. Clarkson doesn't tell me much, but I still have enough sway that I can find out most things for myself; all of which gets passed on to August.'

Maxon seemed to be having trouble digesting this. 'But… why? Why are you betraying Father like this? I thought you would let him get away with anything.'

'Is that really what you think of me?' Amberly asked softly. Maxon looked stricken, as though he hadn't registered how harsh his words were until after he'd said them. 'It's true. For years, I looked at him as though he had hung the moon and stars. I loved him so much I thought he could do no wrong.' Her expression was wistful, her eyes faraway. Then the lines of her face hardened. 'But then he crossed a line; one I didn't even know I had.'

'What line?' Maxon asked, sounding almost afraid of the answer.

'He sent America away. He saw you loved her, that she held greater sway over your heart than your fear of him did, and since she brought him no advantage, she had to go. He sacrificed your happiness for his power. And I couldn't let him do that to you.'

'That was your line. Sending America away.' I winced at the flatness in his voice. 'Not when he beat a boy of eight unconscious. Not when he cheated on you and brought his mistress into the palace while you were asleep in your room. Not when he had an illegitimate child. Your line was when he made America leave.'

Amberly's eyes widened. 'He did _what_ to you?' Her words were knives, sharp and unyielding, slicing through the air. 'I knew about his mistress, even about her child – he was never very discreet, always smug the next day – but beating you unconscious? He told me he was strict on discipline, but I never imagined…' she trailed off. 'Are the marks permanent?'

'So far,' Maxon replied bitterly.

Amberly hesitated. 'Can I … can I see?'

Maxon stared at her for a second, then shot August a glance. He seemed to get the message, and ushered the rest of the group forward, closer to the palace, leaving the queen, the prince and me behind. Maxon wordlessly shrugged out of his jacket, handing it to me, and unbuttoned his shirt. As his shirt came free, he pivoted so Amberly could see the marks across his back – some lighter, older, faded, others new and still raw from the last whipping he'd suffered because of me.

Amberly hissed through her teeth. She came closer and traced one of the deepest – and newest – lashes lightly with her finger. At her touch, Maxon tensed, but relaxed when she stepped away. I passed him back his shirt and jacket, which he slipped on gratefully. It may have been July, but after the sun went down, it wasn't warm.

'He promised me… he _promised_ …' Amberly muttered to herself. She seemed dazed, like waking from a dream.

'What did he promise?' Maxon asked, drawing her attention.

'He promised he never hurt you. And that he never would, so long as I was perfect. I tried – but apparently it didn't work.' She half-laughed bitterly. 'I never thought I was good enough to be queen. Clarkson seems to have agreed.'

The look on Maxon's face was glacial, cold enough to freeze a lake in seconds. But it wasn't directed at Amberly. His ice was turned towards the palace; to the source of the pain felt by both mother and son.

'We need to join the others,' I said quietly. They both needed time to sort through their pain, but now was not that time – not when we were just standing in the palace grounds, with a group of Renegades intent on deposing the king.

Maxon shook himself out of his anger. Taking Amberly's hand, he kissed her cheek gently. 'We'll face him together. One last time.'

Amberly nodded, eyes shining with unshed tears. Together, they followed the path August had taken towards the palace, me taking up the rear.

In minutes, we'd caught up with the others. We walked in silence for a few dozen metres, then Amberly spoke.

'America? When are you going to introduce me to your father? I mean, we are in-laws now.'

'You what?' This from Dad.

'They're married. Didn't you know that?' Amberly asked, frowning.

'No!'

I made a face, then said, ridiculously brightly, 'Hey Dad! We're married!' I wiggled my left hand at him, my wedding ring catching what little light there was.

'No shit, sweetheart.'

Everyone around us laughed, but Dad didn't. Instead, he wrapped his arms around my waist, and whispered in my ear. 'Congratulations, sweetheart.' Then, more loudly: 'Mum's going to kill you, you realise that, right?'

My string of curses set off another round of laughter.

.

.

.

 **Hey guys!**

 **A slightly longer chapter as this story starts to build up to the finale – I'm only expecting a couple more chapters, but they're probably going to be longer than the rest. Uni work is building up again, so I'm not sure when those will be coming out, but I'm trying, I promise!**

 **As always, reviews help me stay motivated, so if you've got a second, tell me what you thought**

 **Love**

 **NewtPevensie xoxoxox**


	17. Hail and Farewell

Amberly led us to a service door round the side of the palace, mostly shrouded by trees, allowing us to slip inside unnoticed. There weren't any guards around, which seemed odd, until I remembered who, exactly, was getting us into the palace.

She whispered for us to stay, then disappeared through another door. August beckoned for us to gather round so he could go over the plan.

'When Amberly gets back, her contacts will spread the word to the staff to be ready, and to get out of the way. Maxon, America and I will head to the royal chambers and… talk to Clarkson. Celeste will come with us to film Clarkson's abdication. Meanwhile, Shalom, Georgia, and Daniel when he gets here – you'll lead your teams to the positions we discussed earlier. The Southerners shouldn't attack tonight, but better safe than sorry. Once Clarkson agrees to step down, we'll bring him down to the dungeons until we can regroup, then we'll broadcast the footage, along with Maxon's return and his acceptance of the crown. After that, I'll take Clarkson to a safe place, to keep him out of the way. Any questions?' August looked around sceptically. He was nothing if not thorough.

A knock came at the door – three short taps, then a longer one, then another two short ones. August nodded at Dad to open the door – to reveal Aspen.

'Hey, Mr Singer,' Aspen said brightly. 'August. Prince.' He looked around, then caught sight of me, at the back of the room. 'Mer,' he breathed, and in seconds, I was in his arms, having the air crushed out of me in a bear-hug.

'Yeah – hi – lemme go – need – air –' I gasped.

I felt his laugh against my ear as he let me go. Once I had enough air in my lungs to speak, I grinned up at him. 'I missed you too.'

Then I turned to glare at August accusingly. 'How many other surprises should I be expecting tonight?'

His eyebrows quirked, but it was a woman's voice that answered. 'Just the one.'

I whirled back round towards the door. My eyes filled with tears at the sight of my old friend, her mass of blonde hair held back in a sensible bun, her brown eyes kind and determined.

Marlee.

I rushed at her, holding her close. Even after nine months of hard labour, her spine was unbent, her arms strong and sure. Not that I needed more proof of her strength after she endured her caning, but it was nice to know she was unchanged.

I finally let her go, but I kept hold of her hand as we went deeper into the room, letting her husband, Carter, and the last group of Northerners come through the door, led by Daniel. Amberly closed off the march, shutting the door behind her.

Several of the Renegades knew each other, so my greetings were far from the only ones there. I waved at Daniel, who smiled shyly and went to talk to one of the other Renegades who had arrived with us. Celeste didn't really know what to do with herself, but ended up being drawn into that conversation, with Daniel asking her something. His attention momentarily diverted by another acquaintance, Celeste caught my eye and mouthed 'Wow' at me, before turning her attention back to him.

I smirked, but before I could say anything to Marlee, August waved for our attention. The noise level hadn't gone up massively – all the Renegades were sufficiently experienced to know how to remain undetected – but August had apparently decided it was time.

'Alright,' he said, his voice low but clear. 'Officer Leger – would you and your friends spread the word? Tell maids, guards, anyone you can find – get out of the way, quickly but quietly. Any officers you trust can join you at your stations.'

Aspen nodded and headed for the door, followed by Carter. Marlee kissed me on the cheek and whispered, 'Talk later?' in my ear, then hurried to catch up to the others.

August had us wait a few minutes, then sent out the first group, led by Georgia, to take up good vantage points on the upper floors. There was a flurry of movement as people made last checks on their weapons, before the room emptied, as Daniel and Dad's groups followed Georgia's, the former to the main entrance, the latter to sweep for other access points to the palace.

The room was now almost empty – only August, Celeste, Amberly, Maxon and I remained. Celeste took her camera out of its case and removed the lens cap, ready to film or take pictures, as needed. Then August gestured at the door. 'After you, Your Majesty.'

Amberly led the way – left out of the door, up a flight of stairs, a right, another corridor, right again – until we reached a flight of stairs I recognised, only two floors and a corridor from the royal chambers. How Queen Amberly had become familiar with the service passages, I didn't know, but it was certainly a more discreet way to get around the palace without being noticed.

Then I heard a muffled _pop_ , and my hopes of an easy takeover fled into the night.

Gunshots.

August's phone buzzed, and his face hardened. 'Southerners.'

' _What_?' Maxon hissed. 'You said they wouldn't come tonight.'

August's voice was grim. 'I said they _shouldn't_ attack tonight. Not the same. Doesn't matter,' he said, cutting off Maxon's protests. 'The original plan was that I'd come with you to get Clarkson to step down, but with the Southerners in the mix, I need to join the others – the sooner we take down the Southerners, the faster they stop being our problem.' I could see his mind working, coming up with and discarding options in seconds. 'You four find Clarkson. Getting him to step down is your priority. Nothing else. When you're done, meet back in the room we just left. Only open the door for me or Georgia.'

With that, he turned on his heel and raced back down the corridor we'd just come along. I glanced at Celeste, but she just shrugged. Maxon, meanwhile, only had eyes for his mother.

'Ready?'

Amberly took a deep breath and nodded. 'Together.'

Up the stairs we went, the queen still in the lead. Just as we turned down the corridor that led to Clarkson's room, I saw two maids come round the corner at the other end of the corridor. Aspen obviously hadn't got this far into the palace to tell everyone, and if the Southerners had reached the palace, they needed to be told to get to safety.

Celeste had apparently reached the same conclusion. 'Good luck,' she whispered to me, squeezing my hand, before running down the corridor to usher the maids away from us. I hoped she and the maids could find any other staff around this level that hadn't been told of the danger yet, and that they could stay safe. But then I pushed all thoughts of Celeste out of my mind. After months of running, I was about to face the man who had destroyed so many lives; the man who had almost destroyed mine.

Amberly didn't hesitate. She pushed the heavy wooden door open, and Maxon and I followed her in.

I was barely inside the door when Clarkson noticed us. He was sitting behind a huge wooden desk by the window, facing us. He wore a formal shirt and trousers, with a red dressing gown over them, as though he didn't know whether he was getting up or going to bed. His expression as he saw Amberly was one of anger, followed by surprise as he registered Maxon's presence. But both of those were replaced by a cold, cruel smile when he noticed me – the face of an angry man who suddenly understood.

'My, my, my,' Clarkson sneered. 'What a lovely surprise. Come to visit your family as you betray them, eh, boy?'

'No, Father,' Maxon replied evenly. 'I've come to ask you to step down.'

A muscle feathered in Clarkson's jaw before he burst out laughing. Not like someone who had heard a joke – there was something maniacal about it. I suddenly wondered what it must be like inside his head; when you didn't trust anyone, didn't love anyone, how did you cope with the pressure of ruling a country?

'Step down?' he repeated incredulously. 'I am the king. I only step down when my heir is over twenty and married. But since my heir disappeared… well, you renounced your claim to the throne as you left. I have no heir. I am king until I die. But,' he continued, his expression crafty, 'if you wish to return, and marry someone suitable… I'm sure we could come to an… arrangement.'

'Even if, for sake of argument, I agreed to stay, there might be a problem with that plan,' Maxon said flatly.

'And what might that be,' asked Clarkson, with exaggerated politeness.

The glance Maxon risked down at his hand made Clarkson follow his gaze. His focus whipped to me.

'You… married… _that_?' he managed to choke out, seeming taken off guard for the first time. 'The… _Five_?' He threw the word at me as though it were the worst thing he could think to say. 'You stupid boy. Can't you see – she is _poison_. You were a dutiful son before she arrived. But since then, since she dug her claws into you… you've become selfish. Ungrateful. You know full well she only married you for the crown. But no matter,' Clarkson said, in a completely different tone. Somehow the sudden jovial note scared me more than he ever had when he was yelling. 'She'll never have it.'

Then a gun was in his shaking hand, pointed straight at me.

' _No_!'

A shot.

Staggering back.

Falling to the floor.

Maxon's arms around me.

His frantic cries: 'America! Are you alright? Tell me you're okay,' he pleaded.

'Maxon,' I managed to say through the adrenaline still coursing through me. 'I'm fine.'

I couldn't say anything else. Instead, I turned my head to see Amberly holding a smoking gun perfectly still, still aimed at where Clarkson's chest was before he fell. She must have had it in a holster covered by her cloak. I was lucky she was so quick on the draw.

I extricated myself from Maxon's grasp. Slowly, I took the gun from Amberly. She looked stunned; if I didn't take it from her, I was worried she might set it off by accident in her current state.

'Amberly?' I asked softly, trying to draw her back to us gently. 'Are you alright?'

She nodded infinitesimally. I glanced over at Maxon, who understood what I wanted. Joining us, he took her in his arms carefully, as though hugging her too hard might break her.

'It's okay, Mother. It's going to be okay.'

He drew back slightly, trying to get a read on her. The pain in her eyes was obvious, but there was something else there too – a clarity I hadn't noticed was missing before.

Then she gasped – a small, surprised sound – and arched back as another shot rang through the room. Maxon caught her as she sagged, her legs giving out under her.

'Mother. Mother! _No!_ ' His cries tore at my heart, but I couldn't go to him.

I was too busy aiming Amberly's gun at the king.

We should have checked he was dead.

The gun we hadn't taken from him fell from his hand as he laughed weakly. I wasn't about to make the same mistake again – keeping my gun aimed at his head, trying to still the shaking of my hand, I crossed the room and picked up the one he'd dropped. I tucked it into the back of my belt to deal with later; for now, I had a bigger problem.

Clarkson was still laughing. 'Even after everything, she couldn't kill me. She was weak, and so are you,' he wheezed, addressing Maxon. 'Your sense of honour, fairness… pathetic. You could never make the decisions a king must.'

'I will be a better king than you ever were,' Maxon snarled.

'You are _nothing_ ,' Clarkson spat. 'The monarchy will fall with you at its head, and it will be your fault.'

I'd had enough. But before I could do anything, Clarkson drew in a final, shuddering breath, and slumped forward from where he'd pushed himself up on one arm to shoot his wife. Refusing to take any chances, I poked him with my toe, then, opting for a slightly more medical approach, felt for a pulse.

Nothing.

'Is he…?' Maxon asked warily.

'He's dead.' The words were curt, unfeeling, but Maxon simply nodded. His focus then shifted back to his mother, lying motionless in his arms. Her blood was smeared over his hands from where he'd touched her back, but he didn't seem to notice. He simply held her closer, rocking her back and forth like a child, as her blood continued to pool around them both.

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.

 **Hey guys!**

 **So! A few plot twists in this one. The second half was really hard to write. I always knew Clarkson was going to die, but I was never sure who was going to do the deed; the options were Amberly, Maxon and America (all for different reasons) – do you think I made the right choice?**

 **Anyways, I'm expecting there to be two more chapters to this story (one more then an epilogue), so I hope the penultimate one will be up in the next couple of weeks or so.**

 **Hope you enjoyed this, and as ever, reviews are very much appreciated!**

 **Love**

 **NewtPevensie xoxoxoxox**


	18. Long Live the King

Maxon and I sat in silence in the king's chambers. Neither of us wanted to talk – the shock of the last few minutes had left us both dazed. Maxon was trying not to allow his emotions to take over, putting off his grief for once we were all safe, and the Southerners defeated.

The door behind us creaked open, jolting us into action. I bolted upright, fumbling for my gun, as Maxon tried to shield his mother's body with his own. But when I recognised my dad in the opening, I relaxed, tucking the gun back into my belt.

'What happened in here?' Dad breathed, eyes wide in horror as he took in the carnage. Amberly's blood had spread, a line of it trickling towards the door. Clarkson's shirt was soaked with red, as were Maxon's trousers from where Amberly lay.

I told him, as shortly as I could – the longer I spoke, the more likely it was that I would lose it. I had to stay strong for Maxon; even if there wasn't anything I could do directly, just being there might help. But I could only do that if I was still functional. The shock still running through my system didn't help either.

Dad was quiet as he processed what I told him. After a few seconds, he approached Clarkson's body, and, removing his jacket, proceeded to cover his face and the bullet wound. When he saw our faces, he explained: 'He's gone now. Whatever he did… death deserves respect.'

I said nothing, unsure how to react, but Maxon nodded once, sharply, before turning his attention back to his mother.

'We need to leave, don't we.' His voice was flat, controlled, but I could hear the effort it took for him to keep his emotions in check.

My dad winced. 'I'm sorry.'

Maxon took a deep breath, then eased his mother onto the floor. Following Dad's lead, he took off his jacket and wrapped it around her. He pressed one last kiss to her forehead, then stood up abruptly and headed for the door. Only once he'd reached it did he look back, saying to no one in particular, 'I'm coming back.' Then he left the room that had made him an orphan, my dad and me following him.

I realised I was still carrying both Clarkson's and Amberly's guns, so wordlessly passed one to Maxon – my dad was still clearly armed, and I didn't want to be carrying any more firepower than absolutely necessary, especially if Maxon were defenceless.

The silence grew oppressive, until my dad started telling us what had happened while we were in the royal chambers. The Southerners had attacked the front entrance, hoping they would have the element of surprise allowing them to take control quickly. They hadn't counted on August knowing they were coming, so Daniel's group had been able to take most of them out almost immediately. The few that had made it further into the palace had been picked off by Georgia's group, with my dad leading the remaining Northerners in sweeps to make sure no Southerners were trying to get in through other entrances.

It hadn't really been a fair fight – we were better prepared, more disciplined, and had the advantage of having officers on our side who knew the palace intimately. Even the Southerners' greater numbers hadn't posed too much of a problem. The fight had almost been over before it had really begun, Dad said. August hadn't wanted to kill them, but they were unlikely to stay put if we captured them, so that was the only way they could be subdued. A couple had surrendered, but most had died in the fight. We had only lost a few Northerners, though we'd suffered a fair few injuries – Celeste had been shot in the shoulder, but was fine, Dad hurried to reassure me when he heard my gasp of fear for my friend.

By now, we were close to the hospital wing, where everyone was gathering to stay with the casualties. We rounded a corner, my dad slightly ahead, and the world slowed.

A Southerner stood at the other end of the hallway, clearly lost and trying to get away. When he realised we'd seen him, he brought his gun round and fired at the biggest threat – my dad.

'Look out!'

Fearful my shriek wouldn't be enough, I practically tackled my dad to the floor. As I did so, I felt a burning line slash across my arm. Not again.

A second shot rang through the hall. I saw the Southerner crumple as my dad twisted out from under me and started shaking my shoulder, panic in every line of his body.

'America! America! Are you alright?'

'Stop – ow – shaking me.' Breathing through my teeth, hissing as waves of pain hit me, I turned to see Maxon standing with a smoking gun and a steely expression. When he was sure the Southerner wasn't going to get up, he came over to me, worry replacing anger on his features.

'He shot me! Again!' I said, in mock outrage, trying to cover the pain running through my arm.

Maxon didn't quite smile, but his lips twitched upwards slightly. 'You'd better not make a habit of this – I don't think my heart could take it.'

'Neither,' I grumbled, getting up gingerly, the movement making me wince. It was a good thing we were heading for the infirmary – I needed a bandage. The wound didn't look too deep, but there would definitely be a significant scar along my bicep. The sleeve of my shirt soaked up most of the blood, but not all of it; a few drops were starting to drip off my fingers as I held my arm close to my body.

Maxon noticed me swaying, partly from the series of shocks of the evening, partly from the pain, and partly from the blood loss, so he carefully slipped his arm around my waist, letting me lean on him for support. I nodded my thanks, and we continued on our way to the infirmary.

Dad had been quiet for a while, letting Maxon take care of me – I think he knew that focusing on me would help distract him from his losses, at least for the next few minutes. But as we neared the hospital wing, he spoke up.

'You saved my life. I was supposed to protect you, but you saved me. Thank you.' He spoke quietly, but I could hear the real emotion behind them – fear and love twisting together, inextricable from each other. Fear of death, love for me, fear of losing me to love… all three present, all three fighting for pride of place.

'Did you ever think I wouldn't try to save you if I could?' My words came out more bluntly than I expected, but I blamed the pain; tact wasn't a priority after being shot.

'I never expected you to have to. But… no. I know you would always try to save those you love, no matter the cost.'

'Love you, Dad.'

My dad smiled tiredly at me. 'I know, America. I know.'

.

Minutes later, we were in the infirmary. I was whisked off to have my arm seen to, while my dad went to check on his group of Northerners. August had appeared and taken Maxon off to goodness knows where.

Once my arm had been cleaned and bandaged, I made my way through the infirmary, trying to find my friends. I passed Celeste, but let her be – we'd catch up later. Daniel was tying a sling for her to keep her arm still, after her shoulder had been sewn up. Despite what looked like a nasty cut on his head, he seemed happy, joking around with her. She looked no less pleased; the pain of her wound clearly bothered her, but I saw her blush as his fingers lingered on her bare skin. I caught her eye when I passed her and winked, but my smile as I continued was genuine – I was glad she'd found someone who clearly cared about her, not her fame.

I saw Aspen with Lucy, him with a heavily bandaged leg, her with a tear in her dress but a fierce look on her face. They were talking quietly, oblivious to the organised chaos surrounding them. Their relief at finding the other to be alright was visible on their faces, even more so in the way they gripped each other's hands, unwilling to let the other go.

Georgia came through the door of the infirmary just as I caught sight of Marlee. Going over to speak to her, I found that she had made sure that as many palace staff as possible were prepared for a possible attack, evacuating them to the safe rooms throughout the palace. Noticing my bandages, Marlee rolled her eyes. 'What is it with you and getting shot?'

I laughed along with her, then sobered. 'Hopefully there won't be a third time. With the Southerners gone, there shouldn't be a reason to get shot.' I glanced at her sidelong. 'Should there?'

A strange look crossed her face, something between relief and worry. Then she shook herself and grinned, slipping an arm around my shoulders. 'Well, if there is, next time, I'm sticking with you. Together til the end, right?'

I leaned my head against hers. 'Right.'

Suddenly, the room quietened. I realised that August had returned, Maxon in tow. Someone had found a stool for the leader of the Northerners to stand on, from which everyone in the room could see him. He appeared to have got through the fight in one piece, if a bit bloody.

'The Southerners have been defeated. Those who surrendered have been locked in the dungeon, to be dealt with later; the rest have either fled or were killed. For such a ferocious battle, we triumphed at little cost – but that cost will be felt dearly. We have all lost someone we knew, close or otherwise. But their sacrifice was not in vain. The Southern threat has been defeated – their acts of terrorism will no longer threaten Illéa. And no longer will a tyrant crush us into the dirt.'

'What does he mean?' Marlee hissed in my ear. I realised I hadn't told her what had happened to me while she was hiding the staff from the Southerners.

August stepped down from the stool, gesturing for Maxon to take his place. Whispers had broken out across the infirmary, so he had to wait a few seconds for them to die down before speaking.

Swallowing hard, he began. 'My father is dead.'

The noise that broke out this time was louder, with a strange tenor – there was simultaneously the sadness at the loss of a monarch, but also relief that a tyrant was no longer in control. Maxon gestured for silence, which came as people leaned forward, eager to hear what would come next.

'As you know, I left the palace. I did not want the crown, because I did not want to be a king like my father. Had I stayed, he would have effectively remained in control. But he is gone, and there is no one else to take his place.' Glancing down at his cousin, he continued: 'August wants me to take the crown. But I will not simply take it. I am asking you for your approval, as those who fought bravely to protect our country. I will only take the throne if I have your support.'

The room was silent.

Until Aspen spoke.

'We may have had our differences, but I believe you would make a good king. I would stand,' he said, gesturing at his leg, 'but it might take a while.'

Maxon dipped his head in thanks. Then Carter stepped forward, catching Marlee's hand; I hadn't realised he had come up behind us.

'We were traitors, yet you saved our lives, and let us stay together. We stand by you, now and forever.'

I caught Maxon's eye. 'You know my answer.'

More people started chiming in with their support. My father, praising his bravery. Celeste, his honour. Daniel, his wisdom. Georgia, his diplomacy. Lucy, his kindness. A guard, his fairness. A Northerner he'd spoken to, his strength. More and more and more, all praising some quality of his, something that they believed in, some instinct pushing them to accept him as their king.

Eventually, when the commotion grew too great, August held up his hands. 'It is settled. Long live the king!'

I felt the responding shout echo through the room, a hundred voices as one, the noise shuddering through my bones.

'Long live the king!'

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.

.

 **Hey guys!**

 **I am so sorry that it's taken me this long to update – uni has been hell and I've barely had a break in about a month.**

 **Anyway, we're almost at the end. I've got one more chapter planned – an epilogue of sorts, wrapping up the last little loose ends. That should be out relatively soon.**

 **As ever, if you have a minute, tell me what you thought by leaving a review! I love reading them, complimentary or critical.**

 **Hope you enjoyed this chapter**

 **Love,**

 **NewtPevensie xoxoxox**


	19. Home

_Six months later_

'Oh, hell.'

I'd just stepped on my hem for the third time since putting this ridiculous dress on. Since Maxon and I were already married, Illéa wouldn't be getting to witness a royal wedding for a while. Instead, the organisers insisted today had to be even more splendid than it might otherwise have been. To that end, my outfit was more intricate than anything I had ever seen – a stiff ivory dress, a sleeveless brocade capelike coat, a belt of gemstones… It was gorgeous, but more worryingly, it was _heavy_.

'Hush, now, miss.' This from Mary, the only one of my three maids who had stayed on after the battle for the palace. Lucy had chosen to leave service in the palace, having found a little house nearby for her and Aspen. As the wife of a decorated officer, she was a Lady of the Court, so was next door, waiting for the ceremony to begin.

Anne, on the other hand, was simply gone. A group of Southerners had found their way in through a secluded back entrance, close to where she was working. By the time the Northerners had reached that corner of the palace, it was too late.

A couple of weeks ago, a memorial had been erected in the palace grounds for those who had died in the last Southern raid. It was a statue of a person – deliberately neither male nor female – in the functional clothes of the Northern Renegades, with an eight-pointed star inlaid in silver on the back of their jacket, like Georgia's. On the podium were engraved the names of all those who had fallen in the battle defending the palace – including Anne. I visited the memorial more often that I really had the time to.

'Put your shoes on, miss, that'll stop you from stepping on your dress.' Mary consulted her watch. 'It's almost time.'

I made a face. Nerves roiled in my stomach as I forced myself to take slow, deep breaths. I wobbled as I tried to put on my shoes, only to be caught by someone slipping an arm around my waist.

'That wasn't very dignified, was it?' Maxon said, grinning.

I smacked at his arm. 'Shut up and help me.' Laughing, he steadied me as I slipped the shoes on. As soon as I was done, he spun me to face him and kissed me lightly. I melted into the kiss, the feeling of him this close to me dispelling my nerves.

Someone coughed behind us, and we broke apart, both of us blushing slightly. Sylvia stood there holding a clipboard, looking not a little harried. 'It's time.'

Just as quickly as they had gone, my nerves were back. I was sure I would trip, or say the wrong thing, or _something_. After everything I'd been through in the last eighteen months, I no longer believed anything would go as planned. Biting my lip, I took Maxon's outstretched right hand as the doors in front of us opened and the sound of a fanfare washed over me.

Maxon looked at me and mouthed, ' _Ready_?' I nodded before I could chicken out and stepped out in front of a huge crowd with my husband.

The throne room had been transformed.

Far from the usual grand but functional style of the room, the word of the day appeared to be 'opulent.' New banners with the royal crest hung from the rafters. The windows had been cleaned within an inch of their lives, with brilliant winter sunshine streaming into the room. Gold and silver symbols of hope, honour, luck and prosperity decorated the walls. The normally simple thrones had been replaced with much more ornate ones, made specially for coronations some seventy years past. Elaborately carved from dark wood and inlaid with gold and precious stones, they glittered in the sunlight. Hundreds of people, wearing their most exquisite clothes, turned to catch a glimpse of us as we paraded down the aisle.

I held my head high, trying not to look too scared, but when I saw my friends in the crowd, I found it easier to keep going.

First I saw Celeste. She had changed a lot since the fight for the palace, and not just because she had cut her hair. She had become more relaxed, while still maintaining her confidence and charm. She had a new drive – once the footage she had taken of the fight had been broadcast, she had quickly been snapped up by a TV station, with a view to making her a political reporter, which would mean she would spend a fair amount of time at the palace. From what she'd told me, she was loving it: for the first time, what she thought counted, rather than just how she looked.

She was standing with her arm around Daniel, in complete breach of protocol. Sylvia would probably have a fit if she saw – which was certainly part of the reason why Celeste was doing it. But the much bigger part was evidenced by the smile spreading across Dan's face, even as he dipped his head to me and Maxon. Their romance had made Celeste a happier person, and had brought Daniel out of his shell a bit, their two personalities complementing each other – shy and confident, loud and quiet, but both focused and driven. There was no ring yet, but I had no doubt one would be coming soon.

Next came Marlee and Carter, sitting next to Aspen and Lucy. Marlee and Lucy were respected ladies of the court, despite their pasts, and as two of my most trusted friends, had become my confidantes in matters of state. Whenever I needed another opinion, it was to them I turned. I valued their advice and their opinions more than I could admit. Sometimes their wisdom was such that I joked that they should just tell me what to say through an earpiece.

I still turned to Aspen for advice when I could, but since his recent promotion to Captain, he spent more time than ever with the guards. I couldn't begrudge him that at all – he was a natural leader, and was well on his way to high military office, though he swore he wanted to stay in Angeles. And, as a middle-ranking officer, as well as Maxon's friend, Maxon called on more and more of his time, as he did with Carter. If Marlee and Lucy were my closest attendants, Aspen and Carter were Maxon's. The three of them worked well together, with a strong basis of trust, and none of them being afraid to challenge the others if they thought their approach was wrong.

Together, the six of us formed the inner circle of Illéa's royal court. Marlee and Carter were likely to take a bit of a step back soon, at least for a while – at four months pregnant, Marlee was starting to show. She had already asked me to be godmother. I couldn't agree fast enough. Aspen and Lucy were engaged, but hadn't started planning their wedding yet – ' _We just had too much time to choose from_ ,' was Aspen's sarcastic reason.

Georgia and August were also in the audience. They had agreed to join our council of advisors. I wasn't sure if they would stay around for long; August seemed too much of a rebel at heart to be able to stay in one place for long. There was always another fight to fight, whether in Illéa or elsewhere. But as long as the caste system remained, I knew he'd be there to help dismantle it.

On the other side of the aisle, I saw my family. A pang of sorrow went through me for Maxon, as it did every time I remembered how he'd lost his parents.

I'd barely seen him the day after they died. He shut himself in his room, and when I went to find him, he asked for me to leave – politely, gently – and though it broke my heart to do so, I did. When he surfaced the following morning, he'd planned their funeral, which took place a week later.

Over the weeks and months that followed, he had coped with their loss by throwing himself into his work – first by planning how to eliminate the castes, starting to implement that plan, concluding a treaty with Italy, speaking with the New Asians… the list was endless. But over time, he started to smile again. Then laugh.

I knew Amberly's death caused him a lot of pain still. But it was Clarkson's death that really got to him. He had hated his father, for hurting him, for threatening me, for being cruel and manipulative… but mostly for hurting Amberly. Killing her was the last straw. Despite feeling that he should grieve for him, for a long time, he couldn't bring himself to. Then, a month after the fight, I woke to find him in tears. I wrapped my arms around him, holding him close, until he managed to choke out an explanation.

'I remembered… a good day. We walked through the gardens. He told me… he said he loved me.'

My own eyes filling with tears, I let him cry himself out – to grieve for the father Clarkson could have been, rather than the father he was.

After that, it was easier. Never easy, but easier.

He liked spending time with my family. It was big enough that adding one more person didn't make much difference, and despite his rank, he got along easily with everyone. When they visited, he could spend hours talking to my father, or teasing May, or looking after Astra. I'd even caught him playing football with Gerad in the garden once or twice.

Today, however, I didn't think there would be time for that sort of relaxed conversation. Too many courtiers, advisors, ministers, and foreign dignitaries to meet. But even so, my family were at our coronation. Gerad, in a suit, was actually behaving for once, though that probably had a fair amount to do with the firm grip Mum had on his shoulder to keep him still. May looked stunning in a green dress whipped up by Mary, and was barely managing to stop herself jumping with excitement. Kota was there, albeit reluctantly invited, seemingly more interested in scoping out potential patrons than what was actually taking place in front of him. Kenna and James had made the trip too, leaving Astra with her godmother for a few days. Mum looked ecstatic, whereas Dad's expression was unreadable.

Before I could think about it too much, we reached the stairs to the thrones, where the bishop stood to pronounce the vows. Maxon and I knelt, facing away from the audience.

'Do you, Maxon Calix Schreave, swear to protect the Kingdom of Illéa, to rule it justly, wisely, and with honour, until such time as your heir may be ready to take up the mantle?'

Maxon's voice rang through the room. 'I do.'

The bishop turned and picked up the king's crown, placing it gently on Maxon's head.

'And do you, America Singer Schreave, swear to protect the Kingdom of Illéa, to rule it justly, wisely, and with honour, until such time as your heir may be ready to take up the mantle?'

'I do.' My voice was quieter, but no less certain. As the weight of my crown settled on my head, so did the weight of responsibility from what I had just promised. It weighed on my shoulders, like a heavy cape, but not on my heart. This would be hard, but I knew in that moment that it would not break me.

'Then rise.'

Maxon stood first, then offered me his hand. Taking care not to step on my hem, together we went up the stairs to the thrones that were now officially ours. Turning to the audience, Maxon sat on the throne to my right. I sat in the other a second later, deferring to his rank.

'Long live King Maxon! Long live Queen America!' the bishop proclaimed. The crowd cheered the words back at us in unison. Among the masses of faces, of strangers, allies, and friends, I caught sight of my father's face, no longer unreadable – the pride in his smile was clear to see, as were the tears gathering in his eyes. He dipped his head, acknowledging my duty to Illéa that would keep me from him, but also that this was my choice. This was what I wanted to do.

The public part would never be my favourite. I never expected to be in the spotlight – I was a Five, happy in the background. The Selection had changed all that. Thrust into the public eye, I had failed over and over again, to the point where Clarkson had all but chased me out. For months, I had longed to get away from this place – from the cameras, the responsibility, everything. But as I glanced over to my husband, I realised this was exactly where I wanted to be.

Here, with Maxon, I was home.

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 **And that's a wrap!**

 **Thank you so much to anyone who has read this story, whether all at once, or who has managed to put up with my erratic posting. I hope you enjoyed it – I've had a lot of fun writing it, and even if it just gave you a half hour of distraction, I'm happy.**

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 **NewtPevensie xoxoxox**


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